


The von Varley Effect

by PlotPoints



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Adventure, Established Relationship, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route Spoilers, Fluff, Humor, Post-Game(s), Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-08-23 14:13:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 66,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20244172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlotPoints/pseuds/PlotPoints
Summary: After the war, Bernadetta wanted nothing more than to stay at home all day. However, duty still called. More specifically, duty called the Professor, who called Bernadetta, who called herself unlucky and answered. Maybe that was just the price of marrying such a busy-body?





	1. Weekend at Bernie's

A room. That’s all Bernadetta wanted. A nice, quiet room, snug and tidy, with all her blankets and books and fabrics and needles. Was she forgetting anything? Oh, of course! Food. Tasty baked treats and relaxing tea. Eating in your room wasn’t allowed back at the monastery, but it’s not like the monks could scold her about it now. Could they?! No, probably not. And her writing supplies, in case the mood struck her. An instrument wouldn’t hurt, though she _could_ just sing to herself. Plants wouldn’t be bad either, _especially_ carnivorous ones.

But a room can’t exist on its own, can it? It needs a house, so it has somewhere to belong. A room and a house. That’s all Bernadetta wanted. Something on a small plot of land, far enough away from the nearest town that people would have to go out of their way to bother her. But, close enough that it wouldn’t be _too_ big a hassle to sneak into civilization and pick up supplies.

A room in a house on a small plot of land, far – but not _too_ far – from the next closest town, with blankets and books and fabrics and needles and food and writing supplies and instruments and plants. All to herself, without another soul in the world. That’s all Bernadetta wanted.

Well, maybe _one_ other soul would be fine.

When Bernadetta first told her list of wishes to the Professor, that’s all she thought it would be – a wish-list. She never thought that he would ask the Emperor herself for a plot of land to call their own. A meager plot by any noble’s standards, but enormous in the scope of either of their ambitions. Nor did she think that he would build them the cottage that he did. It wasn’t as grand or spacious as the Varley estate, but she hardly used all that room even when she had access to it. It was cozy, it had a good kitchen, and, most importantly, the bedroom was snug. Snug and tidy and filled with all her things – blankets and books, fabrics and needles, food and writing supplies and instruments. And plants, of course, though sadly none of them ate meat.

And so Bernadetta found herself living a very happy, very indoors-y life, the blissful monotony of which was often broken by the steady volley of requests levied by the imperial seat in Enbarr for the Professor’s service. Edelgard often asked the Professor to advise or assist in the complex matters of a post-war unified Fódlan, the Professor often asked Bernadetta to help him help Edelgard, and Bernadetta was often compelled to pry herself from the comforts of home. It happened so often, in fact, that they made a habit of traveling to Enbarr at the end of each month just to introduce some consistency into when their blissful monotony was broken.

It was the last weekend of the month, and Bernadetta and the Professor had a very specific end-of-month morning ritual to help prepare for the trip. The Professor would get up early to pack their travel gear. Bernadetta would get up late for emotional stability. After her customary fourth or fifth time waking up, bemoaning existence, going back to sleep, and waking up again slightly later, Bernadetta finally willed her body to roll out of bed. Of course, just waking up late wasn’t enough for _true_ emotional stability.

“Oh Bylie-bear!” Bernadetta sang, skipping out of their room to collect her morning hug. But what was waiting for her in the front parlor wasn’t Bylie-bear. It wasn’t Bylie-bear at all. It was Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg, sovereign ruler of Fódlan under the auspices of the Adrestian Empire.

Edelgard met her with an expression halfway between confusion and bemusement. Bernadetta met Edelgard with an old and familiar greeting between the two.

Bernadetta screamed.

“Y-your Majesty?! It’s you! Here! But why would you be _here_?! Oh no, you didn’t hear me, did you? Did you come here just to _spy_ on my morning routine?! I’ve never been so _embarrassed_ in my—”

“Bernadetta!” Edelgard exclaimed, pre-emptively cutting off her word-flow of shame. “It is… good to see you too. Please, calm down. I did not hear anything that would cause alarm, aside from your scream. And, as I’ve said, you do not have to call me ‘Your Majesty’ when we are not at court. I’d have hoped that after all this time we would be closer than that.”

“O-of course. Of course! Sorry, Your M- I mean, um, sorry Edelgard.”

“You didn’t hear _anything_, Edie? Because I heard something.”

Out from behind Edelgard’s imposing figure appeared Dorothea. On the one hand, Bernadetta was impressed that she could hide herself so well behind someone so much shorter than she was. On the other hand, her paranoia was being both justified and enhanced, which she was sure wouldn’t help her overall well-being.

“Dorothea? You too?! Oh Goddess, I’m still in my bedrobe! The whole house is a mess! If I had known we’d have intru- I mean, _guests_, I would’ve—“

“Hey, who the heck is Bylie-bear?”

A shock of blue hair bobbed into view outside the front window, followed shortly by Caspar’s genuinely curious face. Bernadetta was aghast. There was no going back on this one, now everyone knew and everything was going to be awful forever.

“What is this, some sort of… of… group eavesdropping outing or something?! Fine, if you’re all so intent on _dropping_ all these _eaves_ I’ll just never call him by any name ever again!”

“Please don’t do that. That would be confusing. Also, I kind of like Bylie-bear.”

Bernadetta would have jumped if it weren’t so familiar a voice. The Professor slipped past Bernadetta’s tense frame, the smell of fresh tea and snack cakes wafting from the tray in his hands. He planted a small kiss on the side of her head in passing, the physical impact of which tipped her just far enough to snap her out of her apprehensive stupor. The room alit with excited chatter at the Professor’s arrival, and Bernadetta used the opportunity to escape back to their bedroom.

While changing into something more suitable for guests than her bedrobe, Bernadetta briefly considered locking the door and staying inside their bedroom forever. Well, not briefly. She thought about it the entire time she was in there, picking and choosing the least sloppy clothes that could be construed as casual in her wardrobe. Eventually she gave up, both on becoming a double-recluse in her own home and on wearing something creative, and emerged in her favorite everyday outfit: comfy gardening clothes with a multipurpose apron-slash-artist’s-smock.

Bernadetta entered what was already a lively conversation in her front parlor. The cottage was small, barely four rooms – five if you counted the washroom – and what they called the front parlor was really more of a hallway between rooms that was wider than it was long. Still, it had everything a parlor needed: a place to sit, a place to lounge, a floor for everyone else, and a table for tea. Caspar was already lounging in a pile of pillows and Edelgard and Dorothea were sharing the loveseat, so Bernadetta snatched a sitting pillow from under Caspar and joined the Professor on the floor.

“Bernadetta,” Edelgard said, beginning to pour for her. “Hello. Again. We… apologize for arriving unannounced. In hindsight, surprising _you_ in your own home may not have been the best course of action.”

“No, it definitely wasn’t,” Bernadetta agreed with a slight quaver in her voice. “B-but it’s not your fault! You just, uh, caught me at a vulnerable time.”

“Oh? And why is that? Is something troubling you?”

“Oh no, nothing like that. It’s just the morning before we usually leave for Enbarr and, well, you know how much prep I need to get out of the house.”

“Morning?” Caspar said, dangling a tea-cake in front of himself as though he weren’t going to inhale it in the next couple of seconds. “It’s past noon. That’s pretty Linhardt of you, ya know.”

“Past _noon_?! Professor, why didn’t you wake me?”

“Well, I tried,” the Professor said apologetically, “but…”

“But?”

“I couldn’t bring myself to. You looked so peaceful.”

Having seen, first-hand, the state that both she and the bed were in when she woke up, Bernadetta knew she did _not_ look peaceful.

“Professor,” Dorothea chided, “I can’t believe you’d spoil her like that! You were much more strict as a teacher-slash-general.”

The Professor frowned ever so slightly. He was never the most outward individual, and you needed to have known him for quite some time to really read his expressions. To Bernadetta, however, he may as well have been bawling his eyes out.

“H-hey, it’s alright! I like the way you treat me, you know? It’s real sweet. Besides, it was my fault for going back to sleep five times instead of four. I’m real sorry, everyone.”

“Again, Bernadetta, there is no need to apologize. You make too great a habit of it.” Edelgard sipped her tea, delighting for just a moment in the simple pleasures of a well-brewed cup. She then placed a hand on her hip in what everyone recognized as her let’s-get-serious pose. “Now, as to the reason for our visit. There is a matter of some import that we wish to ask your assistance in, Professor.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like one of your letters,” the Professor said, a wry grin replacing his frown.

“Do I call on you that often? Well, that is simply because I know I can rely on you, my teacher. Today I approach you with a matter of delicate diplomacy between foreign leaders, one of whom you are quite familiar with. With you by our side, our hope is that negotiations will proceed without complication.”

“Of course, I’ll help however I can. But why come all this way just to ask something like that?”

“Well, we had some business at Garreg Mach and, I, uh… thought that something so momentous as international diplomacy deserved a more personal approach.”

“Oh Edie, there you go again,” Dorothea said. “It’s true we have to drop by the monastery for something, but she was _dying_ to visit you at your new home.”

“Please, Dorothea,” Edelgard said, raising her teacup to hide the slight coloration in her cheeks. “I… yes, I cannot deny that I was curious to see what you did with the land granted to you. I must say, your home is quite modest. You two could have asked for more, you know. There are quite a few empty estates in Enbarr now that the corrupt nobles have been uprooted, and I can think of no better owners.”

“Thank you,” the Professor said, “but this is more than enough.”

“Yeah,” Bernadetta said, jumping in for support. “We _could_ ask for more, but even back at home – you know, _home_ home, where my father was – I barely used more than one room. Here? It’s like the whole cottage is my room. _And_ I’ve got a room in that room!”

Edelgard laughed. “Very well. That does sound perfect for you, Bernadetta. If you insist, then I will _not_ insist. Now, back to the matter at hand. As I’m sure you are aware, our dear friend Petra is soon to be crowned Queen of Brigid. Upon her request, she would like to renegotiate Brigid’s relationship with the Empire. To complicate matters, envoys from Dagda have been reported speaking with the various chieftans of Brigid’s isles. It seems they wish to re-assert their influence on Brigid, one chief at a time.”

“Like I said, I’ll help however I can. But this sounds like the work of a diplomat,” the Professor said, crossing his arms and placing a hand on his chin.

“And that’s precisely why I’ll be there,” Dorothea interjected, winking at the room at large. “But while we and the Dagdans call them ‘envoys,’ some of them have much larger and more heavily armed ‘escorts’ than others. Though I suppose talking at sword-point is _one_ form of diplomacy—”

“—which is why yours truly is comin’ along!” Caspar said, eager to contribute to the conversation.

“Caspar, that makes it sound like you’re the one doing the sword-point diplomacy,” Dorothea teased.

“What? No, that’s- ugh, what I _meant_ was that if there’s gonna be a fight there then I’m gonna be there to fight it! Sure would go smoother with you around, though, Professor.”

“Indeed,” Edelgard said. “Though dialogue, not weaponry, will be our primary tool of diplomacy. Nevertheless, neither Brigid nor Dagda must think that the Empire is unwilling or unable to protect its friends.”

The Professor nodded, then turned to the nervous post-noon sleepy-head sitting next to him. “Will you help me, Bernadetta?”

One thing that Bernadetta loved about the Professor was that he always asked. Never demanded, never dragged her out of the house kicking and screaming. He asked. Every time. And every time he asked, a small part of her said ‘no’ immediately. It was the oldest and most consistent part of her, the part she grew up with and found the most comfort in. But, an even greater part of her, the part she found in the academy and tempered during the war, the part that couldn’t stand the thought of the Professor and her friends putting themselves in harm’s way while she stayed at home doing nothing, said ‘yes’ just as quickly. Recently, however, a tiny, non-insignificant, and slowly growing third part of her was throwing its voice in as well. It was the part of her that genuinely looked forward to the prospects of seeing something new and exciting. Brigid wasn’t entirely new, sure, but she had only visited once, and, aside from the mortal terror of fighting the church, actually rather enjoyed her time there. So, listening to the council of her two better halves against her one old half, Bernadetta nodded in assent.

“O-of course. I’ll fight too, for everyone _and_ for you. But only if we have time for some sight-seeing while we’re there, okay? I filled _one_ book full of plant sketches the last time we went to Brigid, but Petra said that each island had slightly different flora and I, um, kind of really want to see it all.”

“Wa-hoah there, did I just- did I hear that right? Bernadetta _wants_ to go somewhere? You feelin’ alright?” Caspar said.

“Caspar,” Dorothea chided. “We should be encouraging this behavior. That sounds like a lovely idea, Bern. I could do with an island vacation.”

“This is _not_ a vacation,” Edelgard reminded them sternly. At her friends’ dour expressions, Edelgard immediately revisited her stance. “But, I suppose not all of our waking moments will be spent securing peace between nations, and we _may_ have to visit each of the Brigid isles anyway.”

Dorothea bumped shoulders with her friend in thanks. “Thanks, Edie. You’re a real softie, you know that?”

“Were it anyone but you, Dorothea, I might take that as an insult. Anyway, thank you for the tea, Professor. We should really start heading to the monastery if we are to be done before nightfall.”

“What are you going to the monastery for?” the Professor asked. “Is there anything we can help you with?”

“Thank you, Professor,” Edelgard said, “but that will not be necessary. We will be searching the monastery’s records for documents that may prove key in our negotiations. Well, I say ‘we,’ but Professor Hanneman has already done most of the heavy lifting. All that’s left is for us is to sort through his findings for anything of use.”

“Ok. You’re not traveling back tonight, are you?” the Professor asked. “Do you have a place to stay? If not, we’d be happy to have you.”

“We would?!” Bernadetta exclaimed. At the Professor’s worried look, she coughed and corrected herself. “I-I mean, we _would_! We would. Of course we would.”

“Well, we _were_ planning on staying at Garreg Mach,” Edelgard said. “We thought it would be nostalgic, but the place might have a few too many wartime memories for us to rest peacefully there. So, if we are not intruding, and my traveling companions agree…”

“That. Is. A. _Great_ idea!” Dorothea exclaimed. “Oh, we have so much to catch up on. Your visits to Enbarr are always all _business_. I can’t wait, you two.”

“What? Stayin’ at the Professor’s place?” Caspar craned his neck up from his extremely lounge-ful pose, which looked to Bernadetta like it took a significant amount of effort. “Heck yeah, sounds great! I wasn’t looking forward to my old dorm-room anyway.”

“Good. Then it’s settled,” the Professor said, a small smile gracing his features. It was easy to miss, even sitting right next to him. To Bernadetta, however, he may as well have been grinning from ear to ear. It was infectious, and Bernadetta couldn’t help but smile, too.

“Hey, and if you don’t mind some home cooking, I could make us all dinner!” Bernadetta offered. “I can have it ready by sunset. With the Professor’s help, of course.” She gave the Professor a playful nudge, and he nodded in his signature solemn way.

The two saw their friends off, wishing them the best of luck in their dull and necessary task. As soon as they were gone, Bernadetta dropped into the pillow-pile and sunk her face deep into the soft cushions. Usually the next step would be to scream, but for now Bernadetta was content with smothering her embarrassment.

The Professor scooched next to her and rubbed her back in small circles. “I’ll start tidying the house. When you’re ready, let me know what you’d like to cook. Okay, Bernie?”

“Just a _bit_ more decompressing,” she muffled in response. “Um, y-you don’t have to stop rubbing my back though.”

==========

Bernadetta created the best meal she could with what they had. Which, to be fair, was a lot. She and the Professor always went shopping the week before leaving for Enbarr so they could make travel food for the road. It helped that the Professor had an uncanny memory for what sort of foods people liked. Bernadetta always did appreciate how attentive he was to things like that – small details that didn’t really matter to anyone else but the people they were about.

It was after dinner, and everyone but the Professor was back in the parlor basking in the contentment of a well-cooked meal. The clatter of plates and the swooshing of water could be heard from the kitchen where the Professor was cleaning up. At his insistence, everyone else had moved on for some post-dinner conversation. Each had gravitated towards the seats they had during tea earlier that day. Caspar was back to lounging, Edelgard and Dorothea were sharing the loveseat, and Bernadetta was on the floor with a spare sitting pillow next to her for the Professor.

“Oh that meat was _so_ good,” Caspar said, slowly becoming one with the pillows underneath him. “I had no idea it could be sweet like that.”

Bernadetta giggled, glad for the compliment. “You know, Raphael said something similar. I thought you might like that recipe, too.”

“Guy’s got good taste,” Caspar said.

“Oh, and that stir-fry? Absolutely delectable, Bern,” Dorothea said.

Bernadetta glowed. She would never admit it, but sometimes compliments were absolutely the reason she tried so hard. “That was actually Bylie- um, I-I mean, the Professor’s idea. I _did_ help pick which vegetables to fry and which spices to stir, though.”

“Well, my compliments to the chef,” Edelgard said, allowing herself, just this once, to slouch ever so slightly. “The palace cooks are no amateurs, but there is something about a meal made and enjoyed with friends that they simply cannot reproduce.”

With that last compliment, Bernadetta was officially emotionally over-stimulated. She ducked her head downwards and clasped her hands so she could fuss them together. “Thanks, Edelgard. That’s really kind of you.”

“Well, you know what’s best after a good meal?” Dorothea produced several wrapped bottles, a small note tied to the stem of one of them, and placed them gently on the table. “Some good wine!”

“Wine?” Bernadetta said a bit apprehensively. “But, we don’t have any good glasses or—”

“Ah-ah-ah, not to worry,” Dorothea said, producing a set of carefully wrapped wine glasses and placing them on the table as well. There was one for each of them, including the Professor, with one extra that she set to the side.

Bernadetta couldn’t help but ask. “Did you just… have those around?”

“Yes. Now then, who would like the first glass? Oh, wait! It comes with a note.” Dorothea delicately untied the note from its bottle’s stem and handed it to Bernadetta.

“For me?”

“You and the Professor, but he can read it later.”

Bernadetta looked down at the note in her hands. She could tell from the feel that it was written on expensive stationary, with impeccably stylized handwriting that looked good enough to print in a book. Once she read who it was from, she immediately understood why it was so ornate.

_To an undesiring strategist and a doll-cursing princess:_

_Greetings! It is I, Ferdinand von Aegir. I pray this note finds you both in good health, in good company, and in good love! It is regrettable that I could not accompany Dorothea to visit. Alas, my duties as a Noble and my efforts to rebuild the Aegir legacy have kept me occupied. I would like to note that, unlike me, Her Majesty Emperor Edelgard _has _decided to postpone her duties to visit. I do not mean to imply that fulfilling the obligations of status is a competition, but if it were? I would be winning. Notable observations aside, I have asked Dorothea to deliver this small token of my affection. I know it is a poor substitute for _my_ presence, but I do hope you will accept it as a humble house-warming gift. For your tasting pleasure, I present to you a sample of wine, hand-selected by yours truly, from amongst the _finest_ vintages of the Aegir estate. It possesses a sweet, fruity aroma that should not upset the sensibilities of those who do not drink often, while maintaining a boldness of effect that even a seasoned mercenary could respect. I hope that you will enjoy it, and that you will enjoy sharing it with others as I have shared it with you. For a gift is best when shared with friends! Wouldn’t you agree?_

_Your grateful student and steadfast friend,_

_Ferdinand von Aegir_

Bernadetta pressed the note to her chest briefly before carefully folding it so the Professor could read it later. It was terribly nice of Ferdinand, and she was sure the Professor would appreciate it even more than she did. He was sentimental like that.

While she was busy reading, Dorothea had poured each of them a small amount of wine, ostensibly for tasting. Edelgard took a small, dignified sip, pursing her lips as she considered the flavor. Dorothea took her glass in elegant fashion, holding it by the stem, looking at the color, swirling gently, bringing the glass up to check the aroma, and finally, at long last, allowing herself a sip to roll in her mouth. Caspar opened his mouth wide and almost downed his whole portion, but saw what everyone else was doing and decided to only gulp down half of it at a time. Bernadetta decided to take hers at a sip as well. She wasn’t one to drink much, mostly because she really disliked the taste of alcohol. However, the first taste of Ferdinand’s gift-wine pleasantly surprised her.

“Hm,” Edelgard said, opening the floor for opinions. “A bit sweet for my tastes, but I can tell this is a fine vintage. Am I right to assume that this is from the Aegir estate?”

“Yes, that’s correct! Wow, I’m impressed, Edie,” Dorothea said, jumping next in line for wine-opinions. “I think it’s delicious. Very fruity aroma. Reminds me of a southern Ochs, but the sweetness is dulling my senses as to the finish. Oh, just listen to me. I was never very good at wine tasting.”

“Really? Sounded way more refined than anything I could tell,” Caspar said. “It’s tasty, but how strong is it? Because I’m gonna be needing a _lot_ more than this if it’s as light as it tastes.”

“Just because it’s not that glorified weapons-polish you used to drink with your soldier buddies doesn’t mean you can underestimate it, Caspar,” Dorothea admonished, passing him the bottle for his own inspection. “And what about you, Bern? Do you like it?”

“I actually do, yeah. It doesn’t taste like a drink. It’s more like… fruit juice with a kick.”

Dorothea laughed in agreement. “That sure is an accurate description of what wine is.”

As they each finished their small sample and each committed to half a glass more, Edelgard broached an unexpected question. “I’m guessing Ferdinand sent this gift with you, Dorothea,” Edelgard said, leaning forward inquisitorially. “Might I take that to mean that your courtship is going well?”

“Oh goodness. Well, if we’re going to be drinking and asking deeply personal questions, we may as well make a game of it.” Dorothea placed her glass on the table and matched Edelgard’s inquisitorial lean. “Have any of you ever played King’s Court? It’s a game we played after practically every show at my old opera company.”

When everyone else shook their heads, Dorothea launched straight into an explanation. “Well, the game is simple. We take turns going around the circle,” she said, drawing the vaguely circular path between the four of them in the air with her finger. “When it’s your turn, you get to ask someone in the circle anything you like. If they choose to answer, everyone else in the circle drinks. If they choose _not_ to answer, they drink. Oh, and you can’t skip two questions in a row. If you choose not to answer a question, then you _must_ answer the next question asked of you. Finally, no repeats. The same person can’t be asked the same question more than once.”

“Oh, _that_ game!” Caspar said, perking up in recognition. “The troops called it ‘court-martial.’ Was always a blast. I am so in.”

The other two looked a bit more unsure. “I am… willing to play,” Edelgard said, “but there are some delicate matters of state that I absolutely cannot divulge.”

“Of course, Edie. On our honor, we promise _not_ to practice treason for the sake of a drinking game.” Everyone nodded alongside Dorothea, and Edelgard relaxed back into her seat. “How about you, Bern? It’s alright if you want to sit this one out.”

And so, unexpectedly, Bernadetta found herself facing an extraordinary quandary of character. As usual, her old half immediately said ‘no.’ No-one’s life was at stake and no-one was in danger, so her new half chose to abstain. Her _new_ new half, however, was being incredibly vocal. It kept finding her new reasons to play, new questions she was dying to ask her friends. And, the thrill of putting herself out there with people that she knew and trusted filled her with no small amount of excitement. To the surprise of everyone, Bernadetta nodded. “Sure. Yeah, I-I’m in.”

“Really?” Dorothea said, delighted at her friend’s adventurousness. “Great! Well, I’ll get us started. Let’s see… Caspar. We know you like to fight, but surely that can’t be the only reason you volunteered for our little Brigid expedition. So…?”

“Was there a question in there?” Caspar said, leaning up to address the room. “Fine. I’m _also_ going to see how Petra’s doing. I know, I know, it’s kinda selfish when I could be helping house Bergliez with all of its new responsibilities. But I miss her, you know? All of us used to spend so much time together, and now it’s been _months_ since any of us have seen her. So yeah. That’s also why.”

At the conclusion of Caspar’s answer, everyone else in the room dutifully drank from their glasses. Bernadetta was even looking forward to it a bit, what with how good it tasted.

“Very well answered, Caspar!” Dorothea said with a playful tinge of condescension. “We all miss Petra and it will _definitely_ be good to see her again. Alright Edie, your turn.”

“Oh, is it? Very well. I will start with the question you so artfully dodged by distracting us with this game,” Edelgard said.

Dorothea recoiled in surprise. “So, you saw through my ruse, eh? Nothing gets by you, Edie. Alright. Well, our ‘courtship’ is going… very well. We are having a good time with each other, and, really, that’s what matters. Now, drink.”

Caspar took a healthy gulp and sat upright. “Alright, my turn! How’s our good man Ferdinand different from your past suitors? So far you haven’t switched off, so there must be something different about him, right?”

“Hmm, I didn’t think this game would backfire like this,” Dorothea admitted. “Fine, just give me a moment to think. Let’s see… well, first off, we’re friends. We were friends before and we’re friends now that we’re courting, which is more than I could say for anyone else I’ve been with. And, he’s more… well, between us it’s… oh, how do I explain this. Everyone else lavished me with grand, romantic gestures. And that’s it. Every time we met they found a new way to profess their eternal devotion or promise a virtuous union with me, and it was flattering. Really. But, with Ferdinand? We just spend time together like we used to. We drink tea, we gab about what’s going on with us and with our friends, we complain and crack jokes and make fun of each other. And it’s really nice.”

“So, you two just… hang out?” Caspar asked, just a bit incredulous.

“Yes. We spend time as two old friends would. But then, every once in a while, he…” Dorothea shook her head and gestured to their glasses. “Anyway, I answered your question.” Again, they dutifully drank.

All too soon, it was Bernadetta’s turn. In truth, she had several questions prepared for each other person in the circle, but was currently torturing herself with indecision as to which questions would be appropriate to ask and when. Finally, she settled on the one that was worrying her the most. “Hey, um, Edelgard?”

“Yes?” Edelgard said, still a bit surprised that Bernadetta was playing with them at all.

“Are you, um, happy? As Emperor?”

Everyone perked up in anticipation of Edelgard’s answer, including Edelgard herself. She twirled her fingers around the stem of her glass and pursed her lips in concentration, thinking of the best way to express how she felt. “Some days, it is, admittedly, difficult to find joy in my role,” she began slowly, leveling her gaze at nothing in particular. “There is still much to be done for our war-ravaged country, and not all of it is… pleasant. But this is the path that I chose to walk, and I would not choose any other way to walk it. Weighing the difficulty of my station against the importance of my ideals, the choice is clear. No, there is not even a choice to be made. To create the bright new world that I envision, I must do what only an Emperor can do. Thus, I must remain an Emperor. But, when I see the injustices of our world being overturned, when I see a new history of freedom and unity being forged for humanity right before my very eyes, I am filled with joy. So, if you were to ask me on any given day if I was happy being Emperor, I would, more likely than not, say no. But, if you were to ask me about the _sum_ of my days as Emperor, then, undeniably, I would say yes. Besides, I have my friends, don’t I? And they are no small ray of happiness,” Edelgard said, ending with a confident smile.

Bernadetta couldn’t help but be a bit awestruck. Seeing the slack-jawed reactions of the others at the table, she was glad that she wasn’t alone.

“Edie,” Dorothea said, breaking the silence. “That was… beautiful. I am _proud_ to be your friend,” she said, raising her glass.

“Hey, I’ll drink to that. To Edelgard being happy! Which is what I _think_ her answer was!” Caspar said, raising his glass as well.

“Th-that was incredible, Edelgard! Here’s to your day-to-day being one day less dreary,” Bernadetta said, joining her glass with the others in the air. They awkwardly maneuvered their wine glasses into one spot above the table to complete their toast, then, as per the regulations of their game, all drank. Noticing that they were all getting slightly low, Dorothea paused the game to refill everyone’s glasses back to half.

“Oh! My turn again,” Dorothea said, sweeping her eyes across the room with a devious grin. “I think these questions have been a _bit_ too tame. Not one of you has drank to skip yet. Now, let’s see… Caspar.”

Caspar gulped audibly. “Y-yes?”

“In our long years of service, did you ever, you know… with anyone in the Imperial army?”

“No, I don’t know. Just ask what you’re gonna ask, alright?”

“Did you ever sleep with anyone in the army, and, if so, with _whom_?”

Caspar sputtered a few confusing half-words, then sighed and drank from his glass.

“Finally, got one!” Dorothea said, pointing at Caspar in victory. “Alright Edie, your turn.”

“So, this is how the Mittelfrank Opera Company does battle, hm?” Edelgard said, placing a hand on her hip to meet the new challenge before her. “Very well, two can play it that way. Have you and Ferdinand, um… consecrated your union?”

Dorothea barely stifled a burst of laughter. “Our union? _Consecrated_? We’re not married, Edie, and neither of us is holy ground! And… no. We haven’t.”

Edelgard looked the slightest bit disappointed at Dorothea’s lack of Caspar-like reaction, but drank alongside everyone else anyway. On Caspar’s turn, he jumped at the opportunity for revenge.

“Alright Dorothea, riddle me this. Did _you_ ever sleep with anyone in the army, and, if so, with whom?”

Dorothea sighed. “I suppose this was inevitable.” She lifted her glass to Caspar in defeat and took a healthy drink.

On Bernadetta’s turn, she was, again, struck by indecision. It didn’t help that she was also starting to feel slightly light-headed. She wasn’t unfamiliar with the physical sensations of being drunk, but she drank so seldom that it felt new each time anyway. Finally, Bernadetta blurted the first question that came to mind.

“Um, Edelgard? Do you and Hubert ever show any sort of, you know, physical affection for each other?”

Edelgard blushed visibly, but maintained her composure and drank.

“Bernadetta, nicely done!” Dorothea said, eyeing her mischievously. “Now, a question for you.”

Bernadetta replied with a small squeak. Somehow, she had thus far avoided having to answer any questions.

“…how is the Professor in bed?”

“Doro_thea_!” Edelgard exclaimed, almost leaping from her seat.

“What! You’re curious, too!” Dorothea shot back, placing a hand on Edelgard’s shoulder and soothing her back down. Edelgard said nothing to confirm Dorothea’s claim, but didn’t raise another word of protest to the question either.

“What? Woah, hey now. You do _not_ have to answer that, Bernadetta,” Caspar said. “You can always drink. Please drink.”

Unfortunately for Caspar, Bernadetta had already dug far too deep a conspiracy hole in her mind. One made far worse by her increasingly dimmed sense of inhibition. “O-ho no. I know what you’re all up to," Bernadetta accused. "You act all indignant at this question, but as soon as I skip _this_ one, you’re gonna hit me with another, way _worse_ question! Is that it?! Well I’m on to your schemes! I’ll just… I’ll just have to answer this one. Phew. Okay. You can do this, Bernie.”

The room went silent. Everyone leaned in, anxious for the answer to so forbidden a question. Finally, Bernadetta spoke.

“You know how the Professor is in battle?”

“Ruthless,” Caspar concluded.

“What? No! I mean when he’s commanding.”

“Clever and demanding?” Dorothea offered.

“No no no, I mean how it’s like—”

“Like he can almost read the enemy’s mind,” Edelgard said.

Bernadetta nodded vigorously. “Yeah. Yeah! Exactly that. It’s like he always knows what I want. He’s, umm… he’s really attentive. And patient. And kind. And… that’s it. The end.”

“Wow,” Dorothea said, raising her glass along with everyone else in honor of Bernadetta’s courage. “So how he is all the time is how he is in bed?”

“_That_ sounds like another question,” Bernadetta retorted, putting on a brave face despite the glass shaking in her grasp. She still couldn’t believe she actually told them – all of them – something so intimate. No, she could believe it, she was there when she did it. What she _couldn’t_ believe was that she didn’t feel more paralyzed with embarrassment in the aftermath. Bernadetta supposed that the numbness in her head and in her toes probably had something to do with it, but couldn’t piece together exactly what.

No-one around the table noticed that the sound of dishes and water from the kitchen had stopped. Given the content of the last question, when the Professor appeared in the doorway of the parlor, everyone jumped in surprise.

“Professor!” Dorothea said. As the ringleader for their game and asker of the question that was their current source of discomfort, she felt responsible for easing him into the circle. “Thank you for the _wonderful_ dinner. Please, take a seat.”

“Ok,” the Professor said, slightly confused as to why he was being treated like a guest in his own parlor. “What are we all up to?”

“Well,” Dorothea said, continuing to take responsibility, “we are playing a drinking game. Would you like to join us?”

“Sure,” he said. As Dorothea explained the rules and poured a new glass, Bernadetta tapped the Professor on the shoulder and passed him Ferdinand’s note.

“It’s from Ferdinand!” she whispered happily. “He got us this _delicious_ wine.”

“From Ferdinand?” The Professor read the note, nodding along with Dorothea’s explanation and pulling his now-poured glass over to him. As he read, Bernadetta saw the corners of his eyes curl and the corners of his mouth pull upwards ever-so slightly. She knew he’d appreciate it more.

“Professor?” Dorothea asked. “Did you get all of that?”

“Yes,” the Professor said, reciting the rules back to her.

“That’s right,” Dorothea confirmed, a bit surprised. “Huh. I guess I shouldn’t be shocked that you’re a good multi-tasker, among other things.”

The Professor nodded. He _was_ a good multi-tasker. “And how many drinks in are we?”

“We’ve each had about, say, a glass each?” Dorothea estimated, swirling the bottle in her hand. “We’re going to have to open another bottle soon.”

The Professor held his hand out for the almost-empty bottle, and Dorothea passed it over without complaint. He then poured the rest of its contents into his glass, raised the brimming glass to his lips for just a moment, then, expressionless, drank the whole thing. The table watched him, dumbstruck, from first swallow to last, until his glass was empty.

“Professor,” Caspar said. “Woah. That something you learned from being a mercenary?”

“Hm? Oh, no. That’s how Jeralt drank all the time.” At his students’ combined looks of concern, he clarified. “That’s not how _I_ drink all the time. That was just to catch up. You know, for the sake of fairness.” It seemed to assuage their worry, and he started opening the next bottle to refill his glass.

“How do you like it, Professor?” Dorothea asked, mostly for Ferdinand’s sake.

“It’s good. Kind of strong. You said you’ve had a glass each?” The Professor looked over at Bernadetta, whose face was looking more flush than usual.

“Yes, about a glass,” Dorothea repeated. “But we’re fine, Professor! Those five years of war weren’t exactly dry, you know. We’ll help you keep an eye on Bern.”

“Yes, please keep an eye on Bernie,” Bernadetta said. “B-but not too close an eye! Alright? A nice, reasonably-distanced eye. Please.”

The Professor laughed, grabbing Bernadetta’s hand and holding it under the table. The sound was, by now, familiar to Bernadetta, who giggled in response despite not really knowing what they were laughing at. To the others around the table, however, it was like hearing the cry of some hitherto unknown creature.

“Professor,” Edelgard said, taken slightly aback. “Did you just… laugh?”

“Is that your question?” The Professor replied wryly, a slight smile still on his face. “Whose turn is it, anyway?”

“Edelgard’s, Professor,” Dorothea said, fully embracing her role as referee of their game.

“Very well,” Edelgard said. “Professor. When was the last time you _laughed_? Besides just now, of course.”

“Hm,” the Professor said, crossing his arms and holding his chin. “I think it happens pretty often.”

“Really?” Caspar said skeptically. “Then you must be sneaking off somewhere to get all your chuckles out, ‘cause that was the first time I’ve _ever_ heard you laugh.”

“Oh,” the Professor said, surprised. “Well, it happens a lot around here. Right, Bernie?”

“W-what? What, you laughing? Yeah, it happens. But he’s definitely more of a chuckler than a laugher.”

“What does that mean?” the Professor said, shaking his head slightly.

“I believe it is Caspar’s turn for questions, Professor,” Dorothea said after bidding everyone to drink for the Professor’s successful answer.

“Alright! Here’s one for you, Professor. Who was your strongest student?”

“At the Academy, or during the war?”

“Is that gonna change your answer?”

“No. Each of you bore your own talents, both on and off the field, which, uniquely and incomparably, lent to our success in each battle. If we’re discussing raw strength, however, then my strongest student was, and is, Edelgard,” the Professor said matter-of-factly.

“Professor, I am pleased to hear you say that,” Edelgard said, hiding, quite expertly, her glowing pride. “But it is only due to your guidance, and everyone’s support, that I found the strength I needed to cut my path.”

Caspar looked disappointed for a moment, but the moment passed as he joined the rest of the table in a drink. “Well, there’s no denying it,” Caspar said, sharing a grin with Edelgard, “you sure are stronger for it.”

Despite Bernadetta’s valiant efforts to scooch to the other side of the Professor to give herself more time to think of a good question, referee Dorothea called upon her to ask. The only question she could think of was for the Professor.

“Um, Bylie? How come nobody else calls you by name?”

“Huh. Ya know, that’s something I never knew I wondered,” Caspar said.

“Yeah,” Dorothea agreed, “that _is_ kind of odd, Professor, but I guess it was never odd enough for me to bother asking about.”

“Quite,” Edelgard said, stepping gracefully onto the why-does-nobody-use-your-name bandwagon. “Knowing you, there is either a very reasonable explanation for this, or a surprising revelation based on your… unconventional upbringing.”

“Was my childhood that strange?” the Professor said, shaking his head. “Nevermind, don’t answer that. That was a good question, Bernadetta. Let’s see. Jeralt always called me ‘kid.’ The other mercenaries called me ‘Jeralt’s kid’ or ‘The Ashen Demon.’ At the Academy, I was ‘Professor.’ During the war, I was ‘General.’ I suppose I’ve always been called by title rather than name, and since I’ve always responded to titles no-one ever needed to call me by name. I wouldn’t be surprised if few people even knew my name. Was that a good enough answer?”

The Professor waited for a response, but everyone else was already drinking.

“Professor,” Edelgard said, “you continue to surprise me, even now. That was somehow both a reasonable answer _and_ a surprising upbringing-based revelation.”

“Thank you. I think.” It was the Professor’s turn, and he coaxed a good inaugural question out of his head with some thoughtful chin-rubs. “Dorothea. Do you know yet what you want in a marriage?”

“Oh my. I suppose I can’t skip this one, can I? I _think_ I know, but, then again, I thought I knew before, too. Honestly, if I can have what I have with Ferdinand – with maybe a _bit_ more passion – with my future husband, then…”

“Sounds like you _could_ just have more passion with Ferdinand,” Caspar said, the impression of his slouching form on the pillow pile having now formed a makeshift floor couch for him.

“Caspar, that is… surprisingly astute of you.”

“Hey, don’t talk about it like it never happens.”

“Anyway, that’s my answer, Professor.” Dorothea swept her arm across the room, and everyone obediently drank. “And now, another a question for you, Professor. When are you and Bern finally going to have your official ceremony?”

The Professor looked at Bernadetta, who looked nervously at Dorothea, who glanced sideways to Caspar, who shrugged at Edelgard, who stoically kept her gaze on the Professor.

“I… we don’t really have any plans.”

“What!” Dorothea exclaimed. It was Edelgard’s turn to place a hand on her friend’s shoulder and sooth her back down. “You can’t have a marriage without a proper _wedding_, Professor. If you believe all that stuff about marriage being for life, then this is the only time in your life that you’ll be able to have one!”

“That’s true. But, isn’t our commitment to one another what counts?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s not the _only_ thing that counts. What about you, Bern. Are you fine with not having an official ceremony?”

“T-that’s one too many questions, Dorothea!” Bernadetta said defensively. “If you want answers, you’ll have to wait your turn.”

“It is _my_ turn, yes?” Edelgard said when she was done drinking. “Professor, do you know how marriage works in Fódlan?”

The Professor opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it and shook his head.

“I thought as much, given your… well, nevermind that. Very well, I shall explain.”

Bernadetta had seen it countless times before, but it was always a bit surreal whenever Edelgard had to explain something so seemingly simple to the Professor. She sometimes forgot that the Professor’s childhood had been, in some ways, even more insulated than hers was. Given her father’s obsession with raising the perfect bride, she knew the intricacies of official marriage inside and out. It still annoyed her just to think about it.

“In Fódlan, a marriage is not only a union of individuals, but also a union of families, a divine declaration, and a legal binding.” Edelgard began, hand back on her hip. “As such, a marriage usually requires the head of each family to approve of the union. Traditionally, an officiant from the Church of Seiros is also required to bless the union, and a representative from the liege lord of your landholdings, or from the Ministry of Religious Affairs if you do not own land, is required to legally witness the union. Obviously, the Church of Seiros no longer has a hand in such matters. However, for the devout, a priest or priestess of the Goddess may still fill that role. So, you see, the wedding ceremony, though ceremonial at heart, is also when your families, your lord and country, and your Goddess officially recognize the two of you as one. Without a ceremony, you two are, in the eyes of those three entities, simply engaged in long-term courtship.”

The Professor nodded along, pondering Edelgard’s question-turned-helpful-explanation. “Family, lord and country, and Goddess, huh?”

Bernadetta had heard this lecture countless times growing up. Family, lord and country, Goddess. She crossed her arms and allowed herself to pout a bit. What did _they_ have to do with matters like love?

After everyone drank for the Professor technically answering Edelgard’s question, Caspar, who had been secretly communicating with Dorothea across the room, sprung the first part of their devious plan.

“Hey Bernadetta. Are _you_ fine with not having an official ceremony?”

Bernadetta let out a nervous, high-pitched laugh, avoiding eye contact with the Professor and taking a drink. It was something she was uncomfortable discussing even when it was just the two of them. Though she loved the Professor dearly, making their marriage _official _official was something she still had very complex, and not entirely positive, feelings about. She had been completely fine with the Professor not knowing anything about formal marriage.

On Bernadetta’s turn, she desperately tried to counter whatever Caspar and Dorothea were plotting by changing the subject. “So, umm, Caspar! Who is your favorite member of the Black Eagle Strike Force?”

“Me,” Caspar answered immediately, smiling at the reflection in his wine glass.

“How gracious of you,” Dorothea said, drinking alongside everyone else. In truth, nobody, including Bernadetta, was surprised. Bernadetta mentally and very lightly physically kicked herself.

It was the Professor’s turn again. With a hand on his chin, he turned his attention to Edelgard. “Edelgard. Are you finding any opportunities to have fun?”

“You ask if I am having fun as Emperor? You should have been present for my speech on happiness, Professor.”

“I heard. The kitchen’s not _that_ far away, you know.”

“Wait, you heard that?” Bernadetta said, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. “W-what else did you hear?!”

“Everything. Um, thanks, by the way. For what you said earlier.”

There was a tense silence as the situation slowly dawned on everyone in the room. Dorothea burst out laughing, rolling a bit into Edelgard who couldn’t help but join her. Caspar lay back in his form-molded pillow pile, guffawing at the ceiling. If the Professor was reacting at all, Bernadetta couldn’t see it with her face buried in her hands. Mustering all of her emotional strength, and leaning gratuitously on the fuzzy feeling in her head, Bernadetta managed _not_ to scream.

When Edelgard collected herself, she finished answering the Professor’s question. “To be honest, Professor, no, I do not find many opportunities for fun. Hubert allows me to rest sometimes, but I would hardly call that fun. In truth, the most fun I have is when I am able to steal away moments like these with my old classmates.”

“Here’s to moments!” Caspar declared, raising his glass for another cheer. The rest joined him, then drank for Edelgard’s answer.

On Dorothea’s turn, she enacted the second part of her and Caspar’s plan.

“Bernadetta. Were you and the Professor each other’s firsts?”

Caspar shot her a look of pure betrayal. “Hey woah, that is _not_ what we agreed on!”

Dorothea stuck her tongue out at him, then turned back to Bernadetta. “Well?”

There was no escape. They had trapped her, a classic King’s Court ploy orchestrated by two seasoned players. Bernadetta cursed her fate, but mumbled a “yes” through her fingertips anyway.

“Being a mercenary doesn’t leave much time for romance,” the Professor said, jumping in to assist. “And your first time is supposed to be with someone special, right? I didn’t really have anyone like that before. So, I’m happy to have shared my first with Bernadetta.”

“You know what?” Bernadetta said, finally unburying her head from her hands, “yeah. I’m… I’m happy about that too. I mean, you’re probably the only person I _could_ have ‘times’ with, you know?”

“Professor, Bern, that was… unexpectedly sweet,” Dorothea said, “even if it wasn’t your question to answer, Professor. But don’t worry. There are _plenty_ more where that came from.”

==========

As the night dragged on and the bottles ran low, everyone eventually drifted off into an alcohol-induced slumber. Everyone but Edelgard and the Professor, who went about tucking everyone else in for the night. Dorothea had collapsed onto the loveseat and refused to move, so Edelgard propped her head up with some pillows and covered her in a spare blanket. Caspar finally achieved unity with the pillow pile beneath him, but the Professor put another pillow under his head anyway and draped a comforter over the whole pile. Bernadetta clung to the Professor and refused to let go. He let her have her way, placing a pillow on his lap, making sure her head was on it, and wrapping her in a cozy cocoon of blankets. Edelgard and the Professor sat across the table from one another on the floor, enjoying a rare moment where the two could, at least functionally, be alone.

“You know, Professor,” Edelgard said, playing with the empty glass in front of her, “I was only half-joking about the estates in Enbarr. For all that you – both of you – have done, you certainly deserve more than a small cottage in the middle of nowhere.”

“Thank you. Really. But I hope we _don’t_ deserve more. I don’t think I’d be comfortable living in a large mansion, and I think Bernadetta’s happier with a smaller space to call her own.”

“Hm,” Edelgard replied, sulking uncharacteristically. “At least you would be closer than a couple days’ ride.”

“So that’s what it is,” the Professor said with a smirk.

“Yes. Selfish of me, is it not? Well, allow me to be selfish a moment. It would be easier to work with you, which would certainly make our task of stabilizing Fódlan proceed more smoothly. Additionally, we would get to see you more often than a couple of days a month. The others – Caspar, Dorothea, Ferdinand, even Linhardt – they do not wish to bother you about it, but they miss you. Both of you. And… I do as well. Dorothea was right about your visits. They _are_ all business. So, would you not at least consider it?”

“El,” the Professor began. She never allowed herself to be vulnerable at court. She was the Emperor, everyone else her subjects. Her strength was paramount. However, at times like these, he was reminded that they were friends first and anything else second. “I didn’t realize. I assumed you had all moved on, but, after all we’ve been through, I _should_ have realized. I’ll talk to Bernadetta about either visiting more often or staying for longer. We’ll need a more permanent place to stay than the usual inn, though an entire estate might be a bit much. Honestly, we’d probably be happy with just a single room.”

“There you go again, asking for less,” Edelgard said. Nevertheless, she stopped sulking. “I know of the perfect room in the palace which the two of you are more than welcome to call your own. I look forward to your increased presence in the capitol. Oh, and thank you, my teacher.”

A comfortable silence fell between the two. One that could only be enjoyed by those who have gone through much together, and can appreciate the tranquility of a moment without stress or fear.

“So, you are happy here, Professor?”

The Professor nodded, playing with a strand of Bernadetta’s hair. She shuddered slightly and clung to him tighter. “Yes. Very happy. I’m close to Garreg Mach and everyone else still there, and close to Remire, where… well, you know. And it’s peaceful here. The perfect place to spend time between missions.”

“And Bernadetta?”

“Of course! Without her here, this _would_ just be a cottage in the middle of nowhere.”

“But she accompanies you on all of your missions. Clearly she does not serve solely to make your house a home.”

“Yes. Without her, I… well, it’s…”

Edelgard leaned forward. It wasn’t often that the Professor acted at all timid or hesitant, except when he felt he could be. She would hear him all the way through.

“Bernadetta. She… has an effect on people,” he said. He had never tried to articulate his thoughts on the matter before, and could only do so haltingly as his head caught up with his mouth. “Things that we do daily, things that we take for granted – they are insurmountable to her in her own head. Leaving your room in the morning, talking to unfamiliar people, trusting someone else. They are paralyzing. Debilitating.” The Professor sighed and stroked Bernadetta’s head, flattening the frazzled strands of her hair back into place.

“But she does them anyway. She goes outside, she tries to make friends, she follows us into battle, and she fights alongside us. She does all that we do, despite how entirely debilitating it is for her to do so. When you see her trying _that_ hard? Pushing through so much despite her fears? You can’t help but give it your all, too. It’s inspiring. And it’s… it’s something I’ve come to rely on.”

“Is that why you love her?”

“That and other reasons, yes.”

“Oh? Do tell, what are these other reasons?”

The Professor smirked, took a drink, and, moving very carefully so as not to wake Bernadetta, rose from the table. “You’ll probably want a separate place to sleep. I’ll get the guest room ready. You’ll be fine not sleeping on an Emperor’s bed for a night, right?”

“Thank you, my teacher. As long as it is better than our war-tent cots, I will have no objections.”

Edelgard looked down at Bernadetta. For someone so important, she sure looked unassuming – dead asleep, mouth hanging open, arms still grasping at the air for something to cling to. Edelgard couldn’t help but shake her head and smile. She scooped her friend up from the floor, allowing her to cling to her instead of the air, and carried her off to her favorite place in the world.

Her room. That’s all Bernadetta wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my Bylie-bear, [Allekha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allekha), for reading and editing. Love you!


	2. On Their Way

Bernadetta didn’t drink often. She didn’t like the taste of alcohol, and so spent most of her time not tasting it. However, there was another reason she didn’t drink – one which was much more relevant to her current situation.

Bernadetta didn’t drink because she hated feeling deathly ill in the morning.

It thus came as a great and unsurprising disappointment to Bernadetta when she woke up the next morning feeling deathly ill. She opened her mouth and a noise she’d never heard before creaked out, causing her to panic for a moment before realizing that she was the one making it. She then swept a limb across the bed like an antenna, but the Professor was already up. Groaning again in disappointment, Bernadetta thought the best move would be to roll herself out of bed and get it over with.

She was wrong.

Bernadetta tumbled to the floor with a shriek, landing in a tangled pile of blankets and bedwear. The morning chatter of a house full of people, which she had barely noticed before, suddenly made its presence apparent by its absence. She lay completely still. Maybe if she _really_ leaned into the silence, it would just swallow her up and carry her away and nobody will have heard her fall out of bed.

To her horror, the bedroom door hinged open. To her relief, it was just the Professor, who saw her on the ground, immediately understood, slipped into their room, and closed the door behind him.

“Bernie,” he whispered, padding over and kneeling next to her on the floor. “You okay?”

“No,” she whimpered, holding her head. “I mean, yeah. In the grand scheme. But I’m dizzy and the floor is hard.”

“Hurt anywhere?”

“I think I hit my right knee on the way down, then hit everything else everywhere else.”

The Professor hovered his hands over her rumpled form, palms emitting a dim glow. Bernadetta had fought alongside him enough times to know what he was doing. It wasn’t like she was hurting _that_ bad, especially compared to some of the wounds she’d accrued during the war. Still, the warm light of the Professor’s spell felt good. She hummed happily and allowed her head to drop to the floor. “Think that’ll work on my nausea, too?”

“No, but this might,” the Professor said, passing her an oversized mug of… something. “It’s bitter. Take small sips, alright?”

Bernadetta nodded, immediately taking too large a sip. She stuck her tongue out, but resigned herself to her medicine and went in for another sip. Having confirmed that Bernadetta was alive, the Professor got back up and started towards the door. Then, remembering something, he wheeled around, knelt back down, and, careful to avoid her drink, gave Bernadetta a hug.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Mmm, morning hug.”

“Breakfast’s in the kitchen. You know, when you’re ready.”

“M’kay. Thanks, Bylie-bear.”

The Professor slipped back out of their bedroom, making double-sure to close the door behind him. “She’s fine,” Bernadetta heard from beyond the door, followed by a chorus of muffled vocal reactions. She groaned again. They _had_ heard.

Whatever was in the Professor’s magical medicinal mug worked, at least enough to let Bernadetta stand without falling back down immediately. She carefully worked her way to the door, adjusting last night’s clothes – which she was still wearing – into a presentable state while sipping gratuitously from her mug. Nevermind the taste, she just wanted it to work more.

When Bernadetta worked up the courage to open the door, it was like wiping a foggy window clear. The muted sounds of conversation from the kitchen became sharp and discernible. Caspar’s voice was as croaky as Bernadetta’s, which he seemed to be compensating for by talking louder. Dorothea, who usually sounded beautiful whatever the case, was now downgraded to a normal, non-diva’s voice. Edelgard sounded composed as ever, the telltale sound of vocal fry very barely fringing the start and end of everything she said. The Professor, despite having only started his day, sounded the same as he did when he was closing a long day of lectures.

Bernadetta peaked into the kitchen and saw that everyone, Professor included, had an oversized mug of what she assumed was the same stuff she was drinking. They were all seated at the small table in their kitchen, but in something of an odd seating arrangement. Edelgard and Dorothea were next to each other on the side facing away from the door. Caspar sat alone across from them, an empty seat next to him. The Professor had volunteered for a stool at the end of the table, which he left often to check on whatever was on the stovetop. Everybody had a plate in front of them, each with toast and eggs in a different style.

Only Caspar, who was leaning to support the weight of his entire existence on the table, noticed Bernadetta’s face peeking around the door-frame.

“Bernadetta!” Caspar bellowed as best he could, his voice cutting into itself and leveling out to something appropriate for all of their aching heads. “You’re alive!”

“O-oh, hi Caspar. I’m alive, but I, um… I feel the way you look,” she reported.

Caspar, having not yet seen a mirror that morning, was about to ask what she meant. Peering at his reflection in the murky liquid of his mug, he muttered a small “oof” under his breath and dropped the matter.

Bernadetta shuffled into the room and sat in the only seat available. She and Caspar couldn’t help but stare incredulously at the pair across from them. Aside from their slightly disheveled hair and the aforementioned issues with their voices, Edelgard and Dorothea looked and sounded like they had just awoken from a refreshing nap. The two stared back, glancing at each other in search of answers.

“What?” Dorothea finally asked, twirling a lock of hair self-consciously.

“Look at those two,” Caspar said sideways to Bernadetta, ignoring Dorothea’s question entirely. “Why do they get to look so _good_ when we feel so _bad_?”

“Yeah,” Bernadetta said slowly, answering sideways to Caspar. “Maybe if they look _worse_ we’ll feel _better_.” The two nodded their heads in unison. Their counterparts furrowed their brows, unsure and unwilling to find out where Bernadetta’s train of thought was going. After a few moments, Bernadetta seemed to finally hear her own words. “W-wait, you can’t think like that, Bernie!” she cried out suddenly. “Oh, _Caspar_! Why did you have to say something like that?!”

“What! We were on the same side!” Caspar said, putting his hands up defensively.

“Oh you two,” Dorothea said with a laugh. “Want to know how we do it? The _secret_, is to be naturally beautiful and fabulous.”

“So you’re saying we’re doomed,” Caspar said glumly.

“I’m saying _you’re_ doomed,” Dorothea clarified. “Bern’s got hope.”

“I do?” Bernadetta said, looking up hopefully.

“You’re already beautiful,” the Professor stated, returning to his seat and placing a plate in front of Bernadetta. “Sunny-side up.”

Bernadetta squirmed a bit. Praise like that made her the slightest bit uncomfortable when said aloud in front of other people. Still, it _did_ feel good. She broke off a small piece of toast and dipped it in her eggs, munching on the soggy mixture tiredly. At least it cleansed her palate of that bitter drink.

“Bern, you like your eggs runny like that?” Dorothea asked. Bernadetta stopped chewing, looked down at her eggs, looked at the toast in her hand, then nodded wordlessly.

“But it’s so… messy,” Dorothea said. “That’s why _I_ prefer over-hard. All the fun of a sunny-side up with none of the cleanup.”

“Bah, look at all these fancy eggs,” Caspar said, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s all the same goin’ down, right? Might as well make ‘em the easiest way possible. That’s why hard-boiled is best. Plus, they’re easy to pack so you can have ‘em while training.”

“Caspar, maybe that’s enough for someone who barely _tastes_ their food before swallowing it. For the rest of us, a well-made and well-seasoned preparation is best,” Dorothea said, having only now finished salt-and-peppering her own eggs. “What do you think, Edie? I know both you and the Professor prefer scrambled, but, knowing you, you must have some sort of utilitarian reason for it or something, right?”

Edelgard nodded, chewing modestly with her hand raised in front of her mouth. It wasn’t the reaction Dorothea wanted.

“Edie, are you alright?”

“I… do not like how my voice sounds at the moment,” Edelgard admitted after finishing her mouthful. Her hand remained raised in front of her mouth.

“But you sound fine! I mean, listen to Caspar.”

“You know, this could be construed as bullying,” Caspar croaked. Just in case it would help, he took a large swig from his mug.

“Perhaps the effect is not as egregious as with Caspar,” Edelgard said, “but were I to sound this way at court, it would leave a sour impression.”

“You’re in luck. We’re. Not. _At_. Court,” Dorothea said, wagging her finger with each syllable.

“She’s right,” the Professor said, tumbling his eggs with his fork like a farmer pitching hay. “We’re all friends here and we all feel and sound bad. Join us in our shame.”

Edelgard laughed his suggestion off, but lowered her hand from her mouth. “I find that hard to take seriously coming from you. Do you even _feel_ the aftermath of a night’s worth of drink? Not only did you get up earlier than the rest of us, you even made breakfast.”

“Jeralt wasn’t always the most… responsible with the company’s drink. You should try fighting a battle like this.”

“We have,” Dorothea said. “Well, Caspar has.”

“Ugh, please let’s not talk about that.” Caspar popped a whole hard-boiled egg in his mouth and chewed the memories away.

“I take it this lack of discretion led to the mysterious brew we’re all enjoying?” Edelgard asked, sipping said beverage as though it were any old cup of tea.

“Actually, _this_ is compliments of Manuela. It helps with the symptoms. Unfortunately, the best medicine is still time.”

Caspar and Bernadetta groaned and set their heads on the table. “How much time?” Bernadetta asked, pondering if that time would be better spent in their room.

“Hopefully before we leave,” the Professor said. “By the way, when were you planning on heading out, Edelgard?”

“We’re waiting for Hubert,” Edelgard replied, unconsciously placing a hand on her hip. “He had some business in Remire and brought the guard along with him.”

“Is Remire okay?” Bernadetta heard the undertones of worry in the Professor’s voice. She groped a hand in the air until she found his and gave it a small squeeze. He was tense. “I hope it wasn’t anything dangerous,” the Professor said, sounding slightly calmer.

“As far as he’s told me, everything is fine. But not to worry, my teacher. If anything, the village was much safer with the presence of my personal guard.”

The Professor relaxed. Bernadetta gave his hand one more squeeze, then picked her head up from the table to embark on the momentous challenge before her: eating breakfast. “Thanks for the eggs,” she said. “I can’t believe you took everyone else’s order like this. You’re a one-Professor restaurant, you know?”

“Actually,” Dorothea said, resting her chin in her hands, “he gave us ours like he gave you yours. He’s more of a one-Professor personal chef.”

“What, he just knew? Oh, of course you’d know, Bylie. You remember the strangest things.” Bernadetta smiled. He remembered the _best_ things.

==========

The table fell to relaxed conversation, as balming to the soul as Manuela’s brew was to their heads. Soon each person wandered off to complete their morning preparations, taking turns in the wash-room and supporting each other – both physically and emotionally – while they got over their bodily woes. Come noon-time, their recovery ward was interrupted by a knock on the front-door. The Professor had taken the wash-room last. It fell on Bernadetta to answer.

“H-hello?” she called from directly behind the door. She was getting much better at this. Now, only her legs were shaking. “Who is it?”

“Ber-na-detta!” a voice boomed from the other side. “You know how much I a-_door_ these talks, but might we be permitted to speak face-to-face?”

Bernadetta giggled reflexively. She knew, objectively, that his puns weren’t funny. She also knew that she didn’t care. “Alois!” she yelled, throwing the door open and throwing her arms around the man on the other side.

“A-ho, what a _pleasure_ to see you!” Alois said just as loudly, patting Bernadetta’s back heartily until she let go. “We should chat, you and I. But first, where is the Professor? I wanted to ask him something.”

“Oh, he’s in the wash. Come on in! We’ve already got company, but it’s not a party without _you_, Alois.”

Alois walked past her into the house, greeting the rest of its occupants as boomingly as he did Bernadetta. Their responses were not as enthusiastic. Outside, Bernadetta could hear, and see, two people bickering near the stables. Normally the Professor would make peace so they could move on with their day. Again, the task fell on Bernadetta. She gulped, braced herself, and channeled the Professor as best she could.

“Professor Hanneman? Professor Manuela?” Bernadetta called, catching their shared attention. They started towards the house, still engrossed in their squabble. Bernadetta laughed nervously as they approached and bid them into the house. “Now, now. L-let’s be friends, alright?”

“Why Bernadetta, we’re already friends,” Hanneman said. “But my dear colleague Manuela cannot seem to grasp the importance of _properly_ hitching our carriage horses. Or, at least, not leaving the elderly to do so on their own.”

“Oh _now_ you’re ‘the elderly,’” Manuela spat. “Just yesterday you were ‘no more than fifteen years my senior’. Well which one is it, hm? Because that would make you pretty young. Like me. Besides, I’ve been trying to get hitched my whole life. Hasn’t seemed to help.”

“Manuela, _please_. Your domestic failings have no bearing on the matter at hand.”

“My domestic failings? You’re all heart, Hanneman.” Manuela bowed him into the house, and Hanneman took it upon himself to enter first.

“Thank you,” Hanneman said. “And I’m sorry, Manuela. You’re right, that was uncalled for. I just don’t want our only means of transport to the capitol to run off due to such a minor oversight. I suppose _you’re_ stubborn enough to pull a carriage all that way, but I just don’t have it in me these days.”

“Seems like you don’t have it in you to apologize without immediately _hitching_ an insult to the end, either. Oh, and it’s a pleasure to see you, Bernadetta. How’s things?”

“Oh, you know. J-just fine, Professor Manuela,” Bernadetta said with another fit of nervous laughter. She hated social conflict. It made her shrivel up and shrink away from things. Unfortunately, social conflict was a part of life. She just hoped the Professor would finish up already so he could corral all of their guests.

On cue, the Professor appeared behind her holding a well-worn leather bag.

“Found your old pack.”

“Was it in that one corner behind the hamper?”

“Yes. How did you…?”

“Because I just remembered that I forgot to remember that I left it there like an idiot. The caravan’s here, by the way.” Bernadetta took her pack and leaned in for a whisper. “I have _no_ idea how you deal with those two. They’re always at each other’s throats.”

“I don’t. They deal with each other. You just have to remember that they actually like each other,” the Professor said, “and that this is their way of looking out for one another.”

“Okay. But I like _our_ way better.”

“Me too. You’re not an idiot, by the way,” he said, holding up a second worn bag.

“Hey, is that—?”

“Yeah, it’s mine. I think we washed them together.”

“How do we get anything done?” Bernadetta lamented, scrounging the pockets of her pack to make sure it was clean, empty, and ready to be filled again. “By the way, Alois said he wanted to ask you something.”

“He did. He heard our mission was going to be longer than usual and wanted to invite his family to join him while he looked after the house.”

“Aww, his family? Well of course they can stay! Anything for Alois and that cute kid of his.”

“And his wife?”

“Yeah. Yeah, her too,” Bernadetta said, looking to the side. Alois’ wife was the slightest bit intimidating to her. Alois swore that she’d change her mind if they just spent more time together, but because she always avoided spending time with her, she had yet to change her mind. “I’d better go pack. Can you handle everyone?”

The Professor looked back into the house. Everyone else was scattered throughout their little cottage, at least four conversations were raging on between them, and not every conversation was exactly amicable. The Professor sighed. “I must.”

The Professor waded into the social chaos around them. Bernadetta stole away into their room.

Packing for a trip to Enbarr was always a game of who-am-I-going-to-see mixed with a riddle of what-am-I-going-to-do. Her sketchbooks were a must. She packed them and her charcoals and rubber first, wrapping them in case the weather took an unfortunate turn and her pack happened to fly open and spill everything everywhere and everything else awful that could happen happened, too. She planned for the practical, after all.

Next, Bernadetta knew they couldn’t avoid seeing Ferdinand. They had a gift to thank him for. Also, she never knew Ferdinand to be someone who would avoid being seen. She knew he favored a southern fruit blend. Maybe he’d like the mix-tea they got from Morfis, too? She slipped a tin into her pack. Lindhardt was at the capitol, too, but she couldn’t imagine him wanting much. She put another tin of tea into her pack that was supposed to help attain a restful sleep, though she didn’t think he really needed any more help on that front. She might as well have prepared a speech on a topic he wasn’t interested in if she wanted to help him sleep. Finally, for Petra, Bernadetta had been preparing something using the sketches she made the first time she visited Brigid. She wrapped the gift as carefully as her sketching materials and tucked it into the safest corner of her pack.

The rest of what Bernadetta packed from their room were the essentials: clothing, emergency sewing kit, soap and bath-cloths, bedroll, Imperial army standard mess-kit, flint and tinder-box, and either two small books or one large book. Since it looked like their trip was going to have two separate legs each way, Bernadetta took the two small books so she could read one for each type of travel. These were the kinds of things she worried about.

Finally, Bernadetta needed her weapons. Her bows, her arrows, and the Professor’s everythings were secured in a small make-shift armory in the back of their craft-slash-guest room. She cracked their bedroom door open slowly – an old and comforting habit – and scampered across the parlor to the guest room. The Professor was doing a good job of keeping everyone civil. Or, maybe everyone was more civil than Bernadetta expected. Either way, she didn’t want to take any chances. As soon as she was safely inside the other room, she shut the door securely behind her.

“Ah, Bernadetta! Is now a good time for that chat?”

“I’m sorry!” Bernadetta yelled, closing her eyes and covering her head by habit. “I wasn’t trying to avoid anyone in particular, I swear! I-in fact, I was trying to avoid _everyone_, so in that sense you’re all being treated equally—”

“Bernadetta, calm down! It’s just me, Alois.”

Bernadetta willed her eyes open. It _was_ just him, Alois.

“Oh, it’s just you, Alois,” she parroted. Bernadetta eased up immediately. As much as she enjoyed avoiding things that made her uncomfortable, she liked things that made her comfortable even more. “I always have time to chat with _you_.”

“Excellent, Bernadetta, excellent. You see, I was just wondering if it would be acceptable were my family to join me in watching your house for this upcoming mission. I understand if you would rather not let such unfamiliar folk into your private space, but—”

“Well, of course, Alois! The Professor already told me about it. I think that sounds like a _great_ idea. Then you wouldn’t be so lonely out here, right? But couldn’t you have asked me while we were talking at the door?”

“Well, yes, but I am technically in the Professor’s service, and the cottage is _technically_ under the Professor’s name. Thus, I thought it wise to ask him first. But not to worry, Bernadetta, this is your home, too. I was going to ask you regardless.”

“Thanks, Alois. Think the place’ll be big enough? You can use our bedroom if you need to.”

“Why, that is most generous of you, Bernadetta! I suppose this room will, ah, be my daughter’s then, huh?”

It was then that Bernadetta noticed Alois’ peculiar behavior. He was posted at the very end of the room, leaning with one arm completely out against a large cabinet. The doors of the cabinet were flush against the wall, the rest of it extending into a deceptively deep depression.

“Say, Bernadetta,” Alois said, noticing that she had noticed his behavior. “Hypothetically speaking, if the only thing between an avalanche of weaponry and the room my daughter will be sleeping in is a single old man’s tired and aching forearm, what would the best course of action be?”

“W-why do you ask?”

“Because that is the current reality of this situation.”

Bernadetta crossed the room with strides fueled by panic, pressing her body against one of the cabinet doors. “We can lock one door and open the other, then hopefully they’ll fall diagonally and won’t spill onto the floor.”

“Right. Excellent plan. Are you ready?”

Bernadetta turned the lock on the door she was pressed against, allowing Alois to shift his arm to the other door. “Ready,” she said. She had told worse lies before.

Alois pushed himself off of the cabinet door, allowing it to swing open and for the weapons to fall wherever they wished to. Their plan half-worked; half of the weapons fell diagonally, banging against the side of the cabinet and sliding back down within. The other half fell straight out, performing a terrifying strike of clashing, bundled metal on the unsuspecting floor in front of Alois. Both of them recoiled as though they themselves were struck. The sound was deafening. The silence after? Worse.

The door to the guest room opened.

“How come every time we leave you in a closed room, something comes crashing to the ground?” Caspar asked, head peeking around the door-frame like Bernadetta’s in the kitchen earlier.

“I’m sorry, Caspar, it was _entirely_ my fault,” Alois said, scooping up weaponry by the armful and depositing it noisily back into the cabinet.

“Ugh, Alois,” Caspar said, holding his head against the racket. “Could you- could you be a little more quiet with that? Or do it later? Or never at all?”

“Uh-oh, I recognize that grumpiness,” Alois said. Mercifully for Caspar, he also stopped tidying up. “You had a hard night’s drink, didn’t you?”

“How could you tell.”

“I can always tell!” Alois bellowed, reigniting Caspar’s headache. “Captain Jeralt used to talk about a cure for people who had trouble in the morning like you do. I think he called it ‘hair of the dog’. Then again, that might be _barking_ up the wrong tree. Hah!”

Caspar groaned in both physical and intellectual discomfort. “Does it help?”

“Well no, of course not. It just makes you forget you had troubles to begin with. Only time heals _those_ wounds.”

“Y’know, the Professor said something really similar earlier.”

“Of course he did! Captain Jeralt used to say the same thing every morning following a night of drinking. That’s a _lot_ of mornings to hear one phrase. You know, this one time—”

Alois draped an arm around Caspar’s shoulder in what he thought was a comforting way, filling his ears with some story or other about Jeralt that Caspar was physically incapable of escaping. After Alois led Caspar back to the parlor, Bernadetta finally had the solitude she needed to properly retrieve her armaments.

The first was her old reliable any-bow. She picked up any bow from the pile on the ground, checked the string and the bowlimb, then shrugged and secured it to the frame of her pack. If that one broke, no-one would cry for it. Any bow could take its place.

The second was her carefully maintained longbow, stored, unstrung, near the back of the cabinet. She fished it out with one arm while retrieving a bowstring with the other, securing it with measurably more care to the other side of her pack. The bowstring she tucked into one of her pack’s outer pockets. Though stringing a bow on the battlefield wasn’t something you ever wanted to do, she still used the same pocket each time so she could grab it without thinking, a lesson hard-learned from the war.

Finally, Bernadetta retrieved her quiver. Oh, her quiver. Her best friend and her worst enemy. It was always too full when they marched, too empty when they fought. But even now, some months removed from the war, she felt a bit naked without the weight of it on her hips. She grabbed it off its hook and made sure it had a full sheaf, running her fingers along the fletching as she counted the arrows. When she was satisfied, she secured it to her belt and felt the weight return, smiling a bit at the security it provided. With an extra arrow bag and another two sheafs of arrows, Bernadetta plunged back into the chaos of her front parlor.

Except it wasn’t chaos. Somehow, everyone had been pacified. Caspar had been saved from time alone with Alois by Dorothea, who was using her extensive experience with tolerable personalities to expertly humor Alois’ every word. Edelgard and Hanneman were speaking in business-like tones, her hand on her hip and his hand supporting his chin. Between them was an old-looking scroll, which they would poke and prod at intermittently. The Professor was doing as Dorothea was, except with Manuela and her newest dating woes. As a reward for his sympathetic ear, Manuela also discussed her newest innovations with her morning brew. At the center of the room was the Professor’s secret weapon, the tool of his greatest social conquests now brought to bear on them all.

Tea. Tea and a flock of cups, towers of tea cakes interspersed throughout. Bernadetta let out a laugh in disbelief. Maybe the lovely liquid was magic, or maybe the Professor just knew how to wield it.

Bernadetta, who was well-practiced at avoiding social interaction, wove her way deftly through the parlor to the front door. Her plan was to sneak out and store all of her things in their cart. However, when she opened the door and walked through, she found that the usually empty air was occupied. She collided with whatever was there instead of air with a small “unf!”, bouncing back confusedly. When she looked up at what had stopped her, what met her, looking down, were a pair of cutting green eyes.

“Hm.”

“Eep!” Bernadetta squeaked, hopping back and covering her vital points.

“Bernadetta,” Hubert said, making an effort not to smile. “A pleasure to finally see your new home. I trust I am appropriately dressed for the occasion?” Hubert adjusted his collar ever-so slightly, the top loops of a colorful piece of embroidery peaking shyly from under his outer robe.

Bernadetta couldn’t restrain her giggles, though Hubert did restrain his annoyance. “I’m sorry. You’re dressed perfectly, Hubert. Why don’t you, um, come on inside? There’s tea on the table.”

“No coffee? None the matter. Tea sounds lovely.”

“Hubert? Is that you?” Edelgard called from inside the parlor.

“Indeed it is, Your Majesty,” Hubert replied, stepping across the threshold and officially becoming a part of the conglomerate of guests within. “I trust you enjoyed your foray into our dear Professor’s hearth and home?”

“You _know_ we did, Hubie,” Dorothea chirped from her corner of the room. “We played a drinking game! Oh, you should have been there. I think you would have _loved_ it. It was all about interrogating people and learning their secrets.”

“As… appealing as that sounds, a blade that sharp tends to cut both ways. Besides, I make it a point not to drink excessively. Too many secrets to trust to a wine-addled tongue.”

“Huh. I can’t even imagine Hubert playing a game,” Caspar said, “not to mention one where people drank, laughed, and had fun. But, then again, I didn’t think you’d do something like separate Edelgard from her personal guard, either.”

“I knew Her Majesty was in good hands,” Hubert said, helping himself joylessly to a cup of whatever was on the table. “Were the enemy to attack, your raucous personal combat style would draw them to you like moths to an extremely ornery flame.”

“Heh, yeah, you’re right,” Caspar said, pleased with his reputation. He leaned over to Dorothea. “Ornery’s a good thing, right?”

“Oh, don’t worry. It suits you just fine,” Dorotha deflected.

“I trust there were no complications in Remire?” Edelgard asked so the Professor wouldn’t have to.

“Yes, Your Majesty. The village is as peaceful as ever, and everyone there remains well. It turns out your guard was an unnecessary precaution, though one can never be too careful in these… trying times. I return them to your care. Thank you for allowing me to indulge my curiosity.”

Hubert caught the Professor staring. The Professor often listened with his eyes. It made him a terrible eavesdropper. “Professor, I assure you that all is well. I can see you wondering, and, yes, it is a matter related to our _elusive_ friends. We can speak on this further when we reach Enbarr. For now, might I ask for your and Bernadetta’s assistance? The guard has many horses, and your stable few stalls.”

The three excused themselves from the cottage to the stables in question, where several dozen heavily armored figures idled upon or beside their horses. They were a familiar, if imposing, sight to Bernadetta; the Emperor’s guard, clad from head to toe in heavy plate, oversized shields giving even more gratuitous protection and sharpened axes giving the bulwark some bite. Even their horses were barded from head to hoof. Bernadetta felt tired just imagining the weight of it all.

“Hubert, I don’t think we have enough hitching posts,” the Professor said.

“Indeed you do not,” Hubert acknowledged. “I just wanted to speak outside, away from all of that tea-soaked chatter. First, I wish to inform you of our travel arrangements. I do not know how much Lady Edelgard has told you, so allow me the luxury of being thorough. We are to travel over land to Enbarr. As we took the main road traveling north, for Her Majesty’s security we shall be taking the split merchant’s route going south. As such, we may be spending a night or two at camp. Please prepare accordingly. We will, however, be able to stay at a small half-way town on the route for at least one night. Donnel’s Gate. Are you familiar?”

“We are,” the Professor confirmed. “We always take the merchant’s route both north and south. The innkeeper at The Gatehouse knows us.”

“Excellent. Then I trust you can arrange us a suite of rooms when we arrive. The guard will stay at a shared bunk house with the town watch. When we reach Enbarr, we shall have some work to do. Lady Edelgard procured documents from the monastery that have bearing on the negotiations at hand, and they must be referenced with documents from the Imperial archives. It shouldn’t take more than a day. When we are ready to depart, a ship will take us to Brigid, the foremost of the Brigid isles, whereupon Petra has graciously volunteered to handle our travel from thereon out.”

They finally reached the stables, though their goal had changed from anything actually horse related to pure conversation. Hubert wheeled about and faced Bernadetta and the Professor before performing an unexpected, and perfectly executed, bow.

“Woah, Hubert,” Bernadetta said, a mite suspicious of his behavior. “What’s all this about?”

“The second matter of conversation I wished to broach,” he said, still at a bow. “I wanted to thank you, Professor, Bernadetta. As you know, Lady Edelgard’s responsibilities as Emperor are as grand and taxing as her ambitions. It is not often that she gets the chance to… relax. Though I make sure to schedule breaks, they are often solitary and meant only to refresh her body and mind. My sole focus is acting in the best interest of Her Majesty. Unfortunately, I am not as… adept at supporting her emotional well-being. Not to say that she is at all weak,” he clarified, finally rising from his bow. “But, to me, her happiness is as important as her strength. Both _must_ be maintained.”

The Professor smiled, shaking his head. “I think you’re better at it than you let on.”

“Hm,” Hubert replied, donning one of his frightening smirks. Bernadetta shivered, but focused on the embroidery on his robes. She knew that, deep down, he was a lot nicer than his position allowed him to be on a day-to-day basis. “I will make sure the Emperor’s carriage is ready to receive her. We shouldn’t tarry overlong. The road before us is long.”

Bernadetta nodded, having accidentally achieved her own goal of reaching their cart with her pack. “I’ll hitch up Pitcher and make sure the cart’s ready if you want to go pack, Bylie.”

“Okay. I’ll let everyone know we’re leaving, too. Thanks, Bernie,” the Professor said, kissing her on the forehead before heading back to the cottage.

“It seems your marriage is going well,” Hubert said once the Professor was out of ear- and eye- shot. “Even if it _is_, technically, just a long-term courtship.”

“Not you too,” Bernadetta whined, ducking away into the stables. “Don’t you have a carriage to bother instead of me?”

Hubert laughed – a chilling, terrifying sound – before leaving to see to his duties. Edelgard’s carriage and team were already outside, leaving only Caspar’s stout steed and Bernadetta’s warhorse in the stable.

“Heya, Pitch!” Bernadetta said cheerily, a whinny greeting her as she bounced into view. Pitcher had been the Professor’s idea during the war. Mobility meant Bernadetta could get farther away from the enemy, and faster. But, over all the battles, close calls, and boring hours at camp they had shared, Bernadetta had grown attached to her brave Pitcher Plant. She opened her stall to check her over, grabbing a carrot from a box nearby as a peace offering. She looked brushed and fed, though she accepted the carrot gladly, and Bernadetta figured it must have been the Professor. Where did he find the time?

“You ready to go, Pitch? It’s about that time again. Yeah, I know, it’s a lot of walking, huh? That’s why we got you something so light to pull,” Bernadetta said, harnessing her horse with practiced efficiency. She led Pitcher over to their cart – little more than a two-wheeled horse-trap with deep seats and a little extra room to stow their gear – and hitched her up so she could drive it outside.

Pulling up next to Edelgard’s carriage, Bernadetta laughed uncomfortably at the discrepancy between the two. It was easily over twice the size of her own cart, flanked by a rack of the guard’s shields on both sides and pulled by a full team of powerful looking horses.

“Leave it to Edelgrad to even _travel_ intimidatingly,” Bernadetta muttered to herself. Hubert poked his head out from around the carriage, and Bernadetta waved at him, resuming her uncomfortable laughter. It was hard to tell if he had heard and was annoyed at her, or if his face was just being his face. Bernadetta didn’t dare find out.

Soon the front door of the cottage burst open, and everyone within scattered out to their respective forms of transportation. Hanneman and Manuela went to one of the familiar looking carts from Garreg Mach, complete with a driver from the monastery and scoured-off symbols of the Church of Seiros. Alois called their vehicle Carriage Mach. Nobody else did.

Caspar rode out on his horse a bit unsteadily, clearly unpracticed beyond being able to sit upright and move in generally the right direction. He joined the main body of the guard, chatting left and right and slotting very naturally into their ranks. Edelgard, Dorothea, and Hubert were next to Edelgard’s imposing carriage, talking over the same document that Edelgard and Hanneman had out before.

When the Professor finally came out to their cart, Bernadetta greeted him with a large grin and some enthusiastic waving.

“When’d you find time to take care of Pitch?” she asked as he secured his gear.

“Oh, you know. Had a long morning.” He patted the horse in question, then climbed aboard the cart next to Bernadetta. “The usual?”

“Yep,” Bernadetta said, handing the reigns over to the Professor. “I’ll take over for the second half of today, then we’ll switch off tomorrow.” Bernadetta took the opportunity to glance back at the Professor’s gear. She saw his usual any-sword and the sturdy steel blade he favored, as well as another blade, ridiculously large, wrapped tightly in long strips of white cloth.

“You’re bringing that thing again? I thought you couldn’t use it anymore.”

“I figure it’s safer with me than sitting at home. Besides, if everyone sees me with it, they won’t try to look for it here.”

Bernadetta knew better than to pursue the subject. If it made him feel better, it was worth bringing.

Alois had walked out to the convoy just to bid farewell, and was bidding everyone the most boisterous farewell he could manage. When he reached the Professor and Bernadetta’s cart, he laughed heartily and caught them both in a large hug.

“Thanks again for watching the house, Alois,” Bernadetta said, hugging him back as hard as she could.

“Not at all, not at all, Bernadetta! Oof, you’ve got some strong arms, you know that? I’m happy to do whatever I can for you and the Professor. Besides, this is technically part of my official duty as a knight. I don’t think lounging in a nice cottage in the countryside is the worst assignment, do you? I _do_ wish you would allow me to accompany you; your missions always sound so hazardous.”

“I wouldn’t be able to focus without someone I can trust watching over this place,” the Professor said, hugging back with much less fervor. “Even better that it’s someone is as capable as you are, Alois.”

“You really know how to sweet-talk a guy, you know that? Hah-hah! _Just_ like Captain Jeralt. I wish you the best of luck on your mission. If you don’t come back in _one_ _piece_, I’ll be really _broken up_ about it, you know!”

Bernadetta giggled with an “oh, Alois.” The Professor just crossed his arms and shook his head, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards despite himself. As Alois headed back to the cottage, Edelgard addressed them from beside her carriage.

“You know, Professor, Alois is not wrong. A man with his experience would certainly be a great asset in the field. I’m sure another of your acquaintances from Garreg Mach could handle house-sitting duty, wouldn’t you agree?”

“That’s true,” the Professor admitted, “but Alois deserves a break from battle. He’s too good a man for it.”

“Yeah,” Bernadetta agreed. “I like Uncle Alois _way_ better than Warrior Alois. To be honest, I think Alois thinks the same.”

“You truly are an oddity,” Edelgard said, “taking into consideration your knights’ preference for battle over their aptitude for it.”

The Professor nodded, but crossed his arms and held his chin unsurely.

“I don’t dislike that side of you,” Edelgard assured him, mounting her carriage.

The convoy was away, the guard taking both the fore and the rear and flanking each of their transports protectively. The clamor of hooves and the clatter of armor joined the creaking of wood and wheels and the chatter of travel companions, a chorus that carried Bernadetta away from her nice, snug, and safe home.

==========

On the road, Bernadetta could tell that the Professor had something to say. He kept glancing over at her, mouth pursed in worry. It was unnoticeable to most, his face was stoic as ever. But, to Bernadetta, he may as well have been gaping at her like a fish.

She slipped her hand over his, their unspoken signal that, whatever it was, she was there.

“Bernie. Do you remember last night?”

“Vaguely.”

“Remember those questions Dorothea and Edelgard asked me? About official marriage?”

“…vaguely.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

Bernadetta squirmed in her seat. “Well, you know how I avoid things that make me uncomfortable?”

“Yes.”

“Well…”

“Oh.” The Professor paused to guide their cart around a turn, then continued. “Would you be willing to listen while I talked about it?”

Bernadetta placed a finger on her chin, pondered, then nodded. Listening sounded emotionally harmless. Well, not harm_less_, but at least less harmful than trying to talk about it herself. That would just be too much.

“I love you. That’s regardless of what any family, any lord, or any Goddess has to say on the matter. The thought of us joining our lives together – entirely, in the eyes of all, regardless of, and secure from, what anyone else might say or do – is… appealing. Exciting. I want us to be safe together. I want you to own what I own, for our cottage to be your cottage, too. I want you to have something aside from what your father and your family hoists upon you.” The Professor set the reigns and turned to face Bernadetta.

“…and I kind of want to prove your father wrong.”

Bernadetta laughed. “You should have led with that. I’m… still not sure, and I’m really sorry that I’m not sure. I love you. I love you, Byleth. As much as I want to prove my father wrong, part of the reason I don’t want it to become official is because I don’t want that man to have _any_ sort of control over you. Not even the possibility of it. And a lord? The Goddess? I…” Bernadetta sighed. Talking about it _was_ too much. She could barely go on, she could feel the pitch of her voice rising, her throat tightening with anxiety. “But, if there was some way…”

Bernadetta titled her head to the sky, allowing herself to dream a bit. Allowing herself to breath. “If there was _some_ way we could find a family we were proud of, a lord who wouldn’t _own_ us, and a Goddess we could both see _and_ believe, then I… w-well, I—”

The Professor nodded. Bernadetta was at her limit, but she knew he wouldn’t ask her to go on. They sealed their conversation with a small kiss, then settled into their seats and focused on the road ahead of them.

They were finally on their way. Now, they just had to see how the journey would go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my Bylie-bear, [Allekha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allekha), for reading and editing. Love you!


	3. Love, War, and Donnel's Gate (I)

Donnel the Lionheart. One of the lesser-known heroes of the Empire, from the days when Fódlan was united. Well, the _other_ days when it was united, the ones right before the days when it was extremely disunited. Back then, all were sworn to the Emperor, and Lion-related imagery was still acceptable for Imperial heroes. Born the third son of a noble house whose blood was spread thin, Donnel the Lionheart inherited a meager landholding – a former frontier town which never quite outgrew its origins, as well as the lightly forested grasslands surrounding it. Donnel knew his holdings could produce precious little, enough food and forage for its inhabitants, but not more. The only reason the town survived at all was because it occupied a convenient spot on a convenient trade route between regions: Hresvelg, Aegir, Varley, and Bergliez all sent merchants criss-crossing his land. But, as many visitors as it had and as much gold passed through it, the town never seemed to grow any larger than it already was.

Donnel decided to use his land’s position, improving the surrounding roads and patrolling them himself. He and his loyal knights fought day after day, facing beast and man alike, until the town grew in wealth and acclaim. His heart was as a lion’s, his people would say, prideful and brave, and his people loved him for it. Donnel’s heart soared when the town was finally well enough off to grow instead of staying as it was. But he soon found the reason why the town was never larger than always it had been. Its wealth and its easy-to-reach location made it just as easy for ne’er-do-wells to raid. Try as he might, he simply couldn’t keep the roads and his town safe at the same time.

So, Donnel commissioned a wall for his town, entreating the Emperor for aid in his task. This was on the eve of rebellious lords, and the Emperor couldn’t risk the loyalty of Donnel or his land. Together, a wall grander than the town itself was erected, the gatehouse adorned with a fierce lion’s-head façade. Finally, Donnel’s town could grow up in the safe embrace of his wall.

Soon after, the War of the Eagle and Lion raged, with Imperial lords clashing on Imperial fields. Donnel never ventured past his lands, for his people were foremost to him in his heart. But, for all who wished to cross beyond Donnel’s town, to Hresvelg or Aegir or Varley or Bergliez, they first had to face that gate of a man. Upon Donnel’s passing, the town was renamed in his honor.

Ironically, the town never grew past its walls. The very thing that kept it safe, that had allowed it to grow up but not out, was the same thing that now kept Donnel’s Gate the same size as it had been since Donnel’s time.

Bernadetta was never _that_ interested in history. Yet, because the innkeeper’s son _was_ that interested, she knew all these things by heart. Every night they stayed at The Gatehouse, the lad would regale her with tales of Donnel’s heroics. And, because the Professor suggested it might be good people-practice, Bernadetta always humored him and his stories.

That, and because telling someone that she didn’t want to hear them gush about their interests was far more confrontational than just letting them gush.

Tonight was looking to be one more such night. Bernadetta’s convoy had just arrived at Donnel’s Gate. While most of the guard dispersed to the town watch’s bunk house, everyone else made for The Gatehouse. The inn was easily the most distinguished building in town, not that that was saying much in a town whose main appeal was that you could pass through it on your way to somewhere else. Situated directly across the wide-open market yard from the town’s actual gatehouse, the inn was often the first and last thing that merchants saw as they came to and fro from the town.

So, too, was the inn the first thing the convoy saw as they entered town. Wide rows of windows surrounded both the inn levels and the tavern floor below, with a warm glow from within that was frequently broken by the silhouettes of carousing patrons. It was an appealing sight on a chilly Wyvern Moon’s night, especially after two days of camping on the side of the road. As the travelers approached the inn, Hubert trailed Edelgard with a long, hooded cloak.

“Your Majesty, please,” Hubert said in a tone that was more lecture than request. “Revealing your identity will void any benefit we might have wrought from returning to the capitol on a separate route. I implore you—”

“You would have me hide from my own subjects, Hubert? Like some outlaw, afraid for their life? The people of Fódlan will never learn to trust me if I skittishly avoid every opportunity to meet them.”

“Indeed, Your Majesty, there is truth in your words. And, one day, we shall forge a future where you _can_ walk freely amongst those you guide. But, for now, for this trip – for this _one_ night – I beg you to consider your own safety first. The people of Fódlan cannot learn to trust the dead.”

Edelgard sighed and brought a hand to her forehead. “I can see there is no talking you out of this. Very well, Hubert. I trust your judgment on the matter.” She stuck her hand out to Hubert, who gave her the cloak with relief.

“What should we call you while you’re incognito, Edie?” Dorothea asked, helping her adjust the back of her cloak. “Ed? Eh-dee? Gard? Hm. No, not that one.”

“There _is_ a name you could use, but…” Edelgard glanced at the Professor. He shrugged. It was up to her. “Very well. Just for tonight, should you need to address me, you may call me El.”

“Hey, isn’t that what the Professor calls you sometimes?” Caspar interjected, looking back and forth between the two of them.

“Yes,” the Professor said. “Please don’t abuse it.”

“Why, is it special or something?”

Edelgard drew her hood to hide her reaction, increasing her step for good measure.

“Is it?” Caspar continued, trying to catch up. Dorothea grabbed him by the shoulder, then turned what could have potentially been an aggressive action into a friendly shoulder pat.

“Caspar,” she said, “it amazes me how you can recognize so much yet understand so little.”

“That’s why I’m _asking_.”

Dorothea gave him another shoulder pat for good measure, then strode past him after Edelgard. Caspar looked glumly at the Professor. “You appreciate a good question, right?”

The Professor patted his shoulder as well. “Yes. And yes, it is special, Caspar.” He moved past him, somehow leaving Caspar even more confused than before.

“Then why was it such a fuss that I asked? Do you get what’s goin’ on, Bernadetta?”

“Nope!” she lied, bouncing past to walk next to the Professor. Caspar chalked it up as one of life’s mysteries, then fell in behind Bernadetta.

When they opened the door to The Gatehouse, the warmth from the inside came flooding out. The din of jovial talk and raucous yelling washed over them, intermixed with the clinking of dishes and the scraping creaks of wooden furniture. A band – bravely vying to be the loudest source of noise in the room – held their ground in one corner of the room, a small following of dancing townsfolk surrounding them. A medley of fresh-cooked meals and delightful tavern brews told their tales to the air, which wafted on an outward breeze. And, of course, there was the physical warmth from the inn’s roaring hearth – warmth which was now leaking out and inviting the cold in.

“Close the gate!” yelled the tables nearest the door, as well as the barkeep, the bar, the musicians, and random patrons throughout. Everyone outside rushed in and shut the door securely behind them. Then, everyone already inside seemed to forget they existed.

“Good,” Hubert muttered to his immediate company. “It seems everyone is too preoccupied with merriment and tavern swill to pay us any heed.”

“We-hell now, I guess to blend in, _we_ should preoccupy ourselves with those things too, eh?” Caspar said with a mischievous grin.

“Let us secure our rooms for the night,” Edelgard’s voice issued from the dark-cloaked figure beside them. “Then, you may preoccupy yourself with whatever you please.”

They wove their way through ale-soaked floors, tables, and people and approached the bar, the Professor and Bernadetta strategically taking the lead. The barkeep, who was ostensibly also the innkeeper, turned about and spread his arms wide in recognition. He was a large man, almost as broad as the Professor and Bernadetta side-by-side, with a frame that suggested a once-impressive, but now neglected, musculature. The curve of his thick moustache followed the turn of his mouth like a walrus’ snout, and a wide, toothy grin cracked across the man’s face.

“Well, if it isn’t the Traveler! And the _lovely_ Lady Bernadetta.” The innkeeper made a show of bowing until his forehead tapped the counter, which was quite the long distance for his head to travel. Bernadetta giggled. He reminded her of Alois.

“And if it isn’t the _lovely_ Bennet Brime,” Bernadetta shot back, giving a much more reasonable bow in return.

“Ya know, it’s not nice to tease the elderly,” Bennet said, shaking a finger in playful admonishment. “Didn’t have any trouble on the roads, did you? Talk of bandits been swirlin’ around lately.”

“No trouble,” the Professor said, brow furrowing slightly. “How much talk?”

“Enough that I don’t think anyone’s lying. Not that I’m wishin’ it true or anything. I’m glad you ‘n yours’re safe.” Bennet was already fishing some keys from behind the counter. “You’ll be wanting the usual, I take it?”

“Not today, Ben. We’ll need a couple more rooms,” the Professor said.

“Well, how many’s a couple?” Bennet sounded more than a bit surprised. He peered over the Professor’s shoulder and whistled. “I didn’t know you had that many friends, Traveler. Might I ask who they are?”

“With respect, no, you may not,” Hubert cut in, producing a weighty sack of gold. “Our Lady prefers her discretion. I’m sure you understand?”

“Understand? No. Will I stop badgerin’ you about it? Yes. But that is a _hefty_ sum, friend. Are you sure you should be givin’ me all that?”

“Should I? No. Will I give it to you anyway? Yes,” Hubert parroted wryly, thudding the sack onto the counter for effect and sliding it over to Bennet.

“Well, Traveler, I think I like your friends. Your rooms’ll be in the east wing on the third floor.”

“Thanks for understanding, Bennet,” the Professor said, showing a rare grin. “But which rooms?”

“Why, all of ‘em!” Bennet laughed and lifted the sack with unsurprising ease, then chucked it under the counter somewhere. He slid an entire ring of keys to the Professor, who passed them to Hubert’s care. “And for your generosity, food ‘n drink’ll be on the house. Even if you’re at it all night, I’m sure you’ll still’ve overpaid!”

“Woah!” Caspar said, emerging from the background and slapping a palm down on the counter. “Food _and_ drink? You’re my kind-a guy, Bennet.”

“Rooms first, Caspar,” Edelgard reminded him, all but dragging him away from Bennet’s laughing form.

==========

The rooms were snug, to put it kindly. Not that The Gatehouse wasn’t built for quality. At first. Then, as the years went on and the traffic through Donnel’s Gate grew, addition after addition was added to accommodate. New floors, new wings, and new rooms were tacked on to absorb the swell of visitors, creating an amalgamed construction of a dozen different styles from a dozen different eras. For a time, that was enough. But, eventually, like the rest of the town itself, The Gatehouse reached the point where it simply could not grow any longer. Rooms became half-rooms and wings became crowded, until The Gatehouse of today graced Bernadetta and her friends.

To be honest, Bernadetta was quite comfortable with a smaller room. It was easier to account for all the nooks and crannies in her little, temporary sanctuary. Not everyone was of the same sentiment, however, and as they rendezvoused back on the tavern level they made their grievances known.

“Professor, I have no idea how both you _and_ Bern can be happy sharing a room like that,” Dorothea said, stretching her arms as though she had just been unpacked from a crate.

“Yeah,” Caspar said, stumbling into a rare moment of commiseration with Dorothea. “My up-and-at-em wake-up routine requires at _least _enough space to swing my arms around my head.”

“Can’t you go outside for that?” the Professor asked, genuinely curious.

“Probably,” Bernadetta pondered, “but why bother when you can do it in your room?”

“_Thank_ you, Bernadetta,” Caspar said. The four of them reached their rendezvous point – the table closest to the bar and farthest from the band – and looked around for the rest of their companions.

“Where’s El?” Dorothea asked, craning her neck over the crowds. Despite her disguise, Edelgard should have stood out as the only figure wearing an all-encompassing black cloak.

“She and Hubert are looking some things over,” the Professor answered. “Something about getting work done now so they’ll have less later. They’ll probably be at it all night.”

“Well, maybe they just want some alone time, you know? Actually, I’ve got some alone time to catch up on tonight, too,” Bernadetta said, moving closer to the edge of her seat in case an opportunity to escape presented itself. “You’re more than welcome to join me, Bylie.”

“Maybe you’d like to stay just a _bit_ longer,” the Professor said, pointing down the length of the bar. A lanky figure was approaching their table, an empty drink tray tucked under one arm and a quill and sheaf of paper in the other. He bore a striking resemblance to Bennet, if someone had put Bennet in one of his own rooms and squeezed the walls in a bit, and, though he was far from being as broad, he was well on his way to being as tall. He even shared Bennet’s large, toothy grin, though not a hint of his facial hair graced him.

Bernadetta groaned. “Do I have to?”

“No,” the Professor said.

“But I should.”

“It would help. Besides, he’s not a bad kid, and I think Bennet’s happy that his son’s found someone to talk to.”

“You mean _prattle_ to.”

The Professor nodded, but didn’t continue further. Bennet’s son was at their table, and he spread his arms wide in a Bennet-like greeting. “H-heya there, Traveler! And, uh, Lady Bernadetta! It’s real nice to see you again. Both of you, I mean.” He laughed nervously and set the sheaf on the drink tray, quill poised to take their orders.

“It’s nice to see you too, Roderick,” the Professor said with a small smile.

“Yeah, it’s, um, the same here. Real nice, I mean. To see you,” Bernadetta said, attempting to piggy-back on the Professor’s greeting.

“And what can I get for you and your… friends?” Roderick asked, noticing the rest of the table for seemingly the first time.

“Dorothea,” Dorothea said, dipping her head in greeting. Roderick couldn’t hide the blush from his cheeks.

“Caspar!” Caspar yelled with a boisterous wave. The volume didn’t seem to faze Roderick, who was more used to Caspar-like patrons than Dorothea-like patrons.

“Ah, I see. I-I mean, it’s nice to meet you. Roderick Brime. My, uh, pa owns the place. W-what can I get ya, by the way? Special tonight’s chicken pot pie. It’s real good, trust me.”

“Well then, I’ll have me some of _that_,” Caspar said, automatically following with “and your cheapest, strongest ale.”

“As you like it, sir. But, um, food and drinks _are_ on the house for you ‘n all.”

“Ah,” Caspar said. “Then your most expensive, strongest ale.”

“Reaching for the top-shelf, are we?” Dorothea teased, poking Caspar’s now-drooling face. “I’ll have the special as well, but just tea for me. Thanks!”

Dorothea concluded her order with a wink, which made Roderick forget to respond. Regardless, his quill-hand dutifully kept writing. “And the usual for you, Traveler? Lady Bernadetta?”

Both nodded. ‘The usual’ was the special and whatever tea Bennet decided to give them. It was hit-or-miss, but the Professor and Bernadetta had learned to look forward to the uncertainty.

“As you like it, sirs and ma’ams. Your drinks’ll be right up.” Roderick finished writing with a practiced flourish, then bowed and made his way back to his father.

“Sounds like he knows you two,” Dorothea observed, leaning forward and steepling her fingers in that prodding way of hers.

“That’s right,” the Professor said, unconsciously matching Dorothea’s pose. “We come by here twice a month. The Brimes are always here to greet us.”

“Well, I think it’s cute,” Dorothea said. “Especially how _nervous_ he is around Bern.”

“W-what?! Nervous around _me_?! I’m the one who’s nervous around _him_!” Bernadetta protested, starting at a shriek and quickly deescalating to a hissing whisper. “He always wants to talk to me. I don’t even know _why_.”

“You don’t? Why, it’s because you’re such a good listener, Bern.” Dorothea reached out and patted Bernadetta’s hand. “When you’re not jumping to your own conclusions, that is. And, before you disagree, just try listening to yourself listen to someone. You’ll see.”

Bernadetta was about to protest again, but a familiar cry rose from the tavern. “Close the gate!” followed by the slam of a door, and the low and high tones of a duo’s dueling voices joined the din about them. Why hadn’t she noticed that they weren’t with them before?

“So that’s where they are,” the Professor said, standing up with a tired sigh. The Professor strode to intercept Hanneman and Manuela, and Bernadetta was suddenly struck with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. It was like someone had plucked them from a staff meeting from five years ago, then deposited them in this tavern without a single moment lost.

Bernadetta saw, rather than heard, Manuela’s flirting greeting to Bennet, followed by Bennet’s hearty laughter, and, with the Professor’s help, the deflection of her advances. Hanneman and Manuela then exchanged antagonistic words, which turned slightly more genial when the Professor intervened. The last thing Bernadetta saw was rather unexpected. Bennet reached both hands out to shake Hanneman’s and the two shared a smile. She rarely saw Hanneman act this familiar with anyone.

“You see that?” Caspar said, snapping Bernadetta from her visual eavesdropping. She followed his gaze, and confirmed that he was, indeed, staring at the same thing she was. Manuela stayed at the bar, while Hanneman and the Professor returned to their table.

“Um, Professor Hanneman? Have you been here before?” Bernadetta asked.

“Why, indeed I have, Bernadetta,” Hanneman said, launching gladly into an explanation. “In my youth, I traveled quite often in pursuit of my then-nascent crest research. Interviewing crest-bearers from a dozen different noble families, hauling my equipment all over the Empire – those were quite the exciting times! As it so happens, traveling from south to east to west often brought me through Donnel’s Gate. Bennet had quite the different calling in those days, you know. Yet, he remains now much as he was back then.”

“Hanneman, I didn’t know _you_ had an adventurous phase,” Dorothea said, wanting desperately to pry. “Will you be joining us? I’d love to learn more.”

“Unfortunately not, Dorothea. Manuela and I stumbled across something rather suspicious near the gate, and, while Manuela obviously disagrees, I thought it best if it were brought to the attention of the watch. I would be more than happy to regale you with tales of my youth on the road, though I fear they are not as exciting as you might hope.” Hanneman made for the front door with a small farewell bow, but Bernadetta saw the growing relief on his face as he drew further and further from all the noise in the tavern. She would have been jealous, but he was going entirely the wrong way. He _should_ be heading to his room if he wanted some peace and quiet.

Soon, Roderick returned with a tray full of drinks. He set each cup down carefully, repeating the name of the drink aloud as he did. After setting down Bernadetta’s tea, he pulled his drink tray to his chest and leaned back upon the bar. To Bernadetta’s chagrin, Roderick looked eager to chat.

“You know what tea that is?” he said, gesturing with his chin. “My pa picked it out. It’s got somethin’ of a history around here.”

Bernadetta lifted her cup and took an investigatory sip. She wasn’t the most tea-y noble about, especially compared to fanatics like Ferdinand or Lorenz. She _did_, however, happen to have a tin of that very tea in her pack.

“Um, this is a Morfis mix-tea, right?”

“Y-yeah. Yeah! That’s exactly it. Wow, Lady Bernadetta, you sure know your stuff. I-I mean, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised though, you being a noble and all. Do you know why this tea’s so interesting?”

“I guess you’re going to tell me,” Bernadetta said, setting her cup down glumly. Nevertheless, she prepped her mind and perked her ears up. What if, somewhere later in the conversation, he ended up asking her a question about something they talked about before, and she had no idea what to say or to do and was exposed for a complete and utter fraud? There was no _way_ she was going to let herself get caught off guard like that.

“Right again! Haha! Oh wow, you sure are good at this,” Roderick beamed, gripping the tray tighter as he leaned into the conversation. “That tea right there is the _very_ tea favored by Donnel the Lionheart and his fair maiden. Have I told you about her?”

“The one from Enbarr?” Bernadetta said, nodding slowly in recognition. “You told me Donnel saved her on her way back from Bergliez, and how she swept him off his feet with her kindness and wit. I kind of like her, actually. Reminds me of By- um, of… someone.”

“Who’s this someone, Lady Bernadetta?”

“Oh, um, they’re, you know. Someone.” Bernadetta looked to the side, occupying her mouth with her tea so it would stop embarrassing her. To her great relief, Roderick moved on.

“Okay. Well, uh, the story’s like this. Back then, Morfis wasn’t so closed off. I mean, they’re not closed off _now_, but they weren’t back then either like they were a little later on than back then.” Roderick freed a hand to draw a couple of lines in the air, following them with his eyes as though they would help him understand his own tangled description of time. “Um, yeah. With all the trade goin’ on, Donnel’s Gate got stuff from all over. One day, a whole shipment of Morfis mix got left behind somehow. So, Donnel kept it in his castle so it wouldn’t go to waste.”

Bernadetta leaned in. Maybe she was a _bit_ interested in this story.

“This was, uh – if you remember the other story – this was during the Lost Lords and all,” Roderick said, trying to find his place.

“The ones who were basically bandits?”

“That – yeah, that’s right! Right again, Lady Bernadetta,” Roderick said, trying to give a thumbs-up with his tray-wielding hand and very barely not losing his grip. “So, Lady Celen – that was the maiden – Lady Celen ran into one-a those lords on her way back from Bergliez, and he tried to hold her up on the road. Well, it wasn’t so much a ‘try’ as much as it was a ‘he did it easily’. But, fate worked the way that it always does for heroes. It was the rainy season and a fog was rollin’ in from the west, and Donnel happened to get lost in that fog. He and his knights stumbled across Lady Celen and the Lost Lord, and Donnel fought him off and whisked her away back to the castle!”

Roderick’s eyes were shining. He was talking about it like he had seen it himself, like Donnel had passed by him and patted him on the head after saving his fair maiden. It was a bit endearing. Bernadetta definitely understood a passion for folk tales; tales of Saint Indech made her feel the same way. She usually kept it to herself, though. Maybe that was what Roderick did when she wasn’t around.

“You never told me _how_ Donnel saved the maiden,” Bernadetta said, fiddling with her cup so her hands had something to do. “I guess this was, um, how that went, then. So, even though he got all lost and all, he magically knew how to get back to his castle?”

“Actually, that’s kinda pretty accurate. Donnel couldn’t tell left from right in that fog, but Lady Celen used a spell blow it away as they rode. Those lands were Donnel’s, and he knew ‘em like the back of his sword. With what little he could glimpse in the wake of each of Lady Celen’s spells, Donnel knew just how to get home.” Donnel fogged up the tray in his hands with his breath, wiping it clean again with a sleeve. “Pretty amazin’, right?”

Bernadetta nodded. Not the usual nod she threw out when she was humoring someone. She actually agreed. If there was one place she knew best, it was home, and Bernadetta had her own certain someone she could always rely on to clear the fog from her path. This Donnel fellow was pretty relatable. “So, what happened when they got back to the castle?” she asked. What did this have to do with tea?

“Close the gate!” Roderick yelled suddenly, joining a crowd of other bar denizens as some other group committed the unspeakable crime of opening the front door to enter the tavern. He launched back into his story as though nothing had happened, giving Bernadetta a bit of attentional whiplash. “When they got back they were all soakin’ and cold. Fog’s like rain when it’s thick enough, you know? You, uh, yeah you probably knew. You know a lot, Lady Bernadetta. Well, to get warm, they had tea. Morfis mix, a bunch-a cups of it each. They say that, after that, whenever the two got back home, they always shared a pot of Morfis mix. And, even after the first shipment ran out, there was always a shipment of it in the castle.”

“Aww, that was a real nice story, Roderick!” Bernadetta said, imagining doing the same with the Professor. It made her chest warm. That, and the piping hot liquid she kept imbibing.

“Heh, thanks,” Roderick said, scratching the back of his head. She didn’t always praise him like that. In fact, she almost never did. “Always thought that tale was kinda sad, though.”

“Why’s that? They had an endless supply of the thing that they liked. Sounds great.”

“Well, sure, Lady Bernadetta,” Roderick rushed to agree, “I’m not sayin’ it wasn’t enjoyable. But… they _only_ ever drank Morfis mix. When offered other types of tea, they always declined, afraid it wouldn’t taste nearly as good. They were also famously bad at havin’ guests. They never knew how to treat them to anythin’ else. It actually got them in a bit of trouble once, right before the War of the Eagle and Lion. Ah, but that’s another story and all.”

“Alright, so they weren’t as good at doing _some_ things. What if they didn’t _want_ to do those things?”

“True again, Lady Bernadetta, true again. But, what if they didn’t want to do it ‘cause they just weren’t good at it yet? What if they actually had pretty good tastes? What if they coulda been _great_ hosts, if only they tried somethin’ else? Feels a waste, if you ask me,” Roderick said, backing off with that last thought. “Anyway, I should be gettin’ back to work. Food should be ready, so I’ll get it right out. Thanks for the chat, Lady Bernadetta!”

Roderick bowed in that awkward, lanky way of his, then headed back to the kitchen with a little hop in his step. Bernadetta let out a relieved sigh, trying to relax muscles she didn’t know were tense. She felt the Professor put a hand on her shoulder. He rubbed it gently in congratulations.

“That went pretty well,” the Professor said. “Looked like you liked that one, too.”

“Thanks. It was a good story this time. You know, you’re just like _my_ Lady Celen, Bylie,” Bernadetta said with a giggle.

“Yeah?” the Professor said, brows raising slightly. “Am I lovely enough for that honor?”

“Oh, you’re _gorgeous_,” Bernadetta said, forgetting where she was. When she glanced across the table, Dorothea was staring, laughter in her eyes. “I-I um, I mean, um—?”

“Why, Berna_detta_,” Dorothea said, the laugh working its way under her words. “I didn’t know you were such a _flirt_!”

“I’m not!” Bernadetta protested. “J-just, just forget you heard anything, alright?”

“Mmm, alright,” Dorothea said noncommittally, “but how am I supposed to forget _that_?” Bernadetta followed Dorothea’s gaze. It was the Professor, brows still slightly raised, looking down and to the right at seemingly nothing. To anyone else, it looked like he was just inspecting the floor. To Bernadetta, and, apparently, Dorothea, he looked like a bashful maiden from a storybook. The Professor cleared his throat, taking a sip from his tea. The brew helped him wipe the expression from his face.

“Was it _that_ bad?” Bernadetta said, aghast. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Oh, Bernie, you’re _always_ doing stuff like this!”

“No, Bernie, it wasn’t bad at all,” the Professor assured, clearing his throat one more time. “In fact, it was pretty good. You just caught me off guard. I’ve never heard you talk like that in front of others.” He sounded kind of proud – a tone that always made Bernadetta feel a bit proud, too.

“Yeah, Bern, I’m glad you’re loosening up around us!” Dorothea said, eager to support her behavior. “Isn’t that right, Caspar?”

If Caspar heard her, he didn’t act like it. In fact, Bernadetta wasn’t sure _what_ he was acting like. Caspar was standing on top of his chair, waving his arms like, for lack of a better term, an idiot.

“Caspar?” Dorothea tried again.

“Huh? Sorry, Dorothea, I’m kinda busy. Try’na get _them_ to _notice_ me,” Caspar said, words stressing with effort as he continued to wave.

“Just who are you waving to?” Dorothea asked for the table.

“Well, _them_, of course! They just came in. Don’t you recognize them?”

“Should I?” Dorothea said, a bit concerned that she was unknowingly being rude to someone.

“Well, _yeah_, we’ve been riding with them since Enbarr,” Caspar said before embarking on an impressive mass-biography. “That blonde one’s Jesper. His horse always leads left, so he oversteers right into the rest of us all the time. The one with the bowl cut’s Meredith. Hates bugs, and I mean _hates_ ‘em. I once saw her loop her whole platoon out of formation to step on a beetle. Turns out she wanted to step on it, like, twenty times. Wait, how many pairs of feet are in a platoon? Ugh, nevermind. The red-haired one with the pony-tail’s Karina. She’s a Sergeant or Captain or something, I think. We fought once, but we promised to keep rank out of it so I never found out. _Mean_ right hook. And the big guy’s Seldek, comes all the way from Goneril. He’s a big softie, that one. Shared his lunch with me once. And the other four are, uh… huh. Actually, I’ve got no clue. But, if they’re with the others, I betcha they’re alright!”

Bernadetta was more than a bit taken aback at how quickly Caspar made friends. Not that she felt the _need_ to make any more friends, but it would have been nice if she could do it that well if she wanted to.

“I’m… rather impressed, Caspar,” Dorothea said, riding the same train of thought. “You’re making me feel a bit ungracious.”

“Well, it’s not your fault,” Caspar said, climbing down from his chair. He had, unsurprisingly, stuck out enough to catch their attention. “It’s different when you’re riding right alongside ‘em instead of just sitting in a cart between ‘em.”

The group in question, drawn like moths to Caspar’s ornery flame, flooded into the table next to them, sitting with a clamor of screeching chair legs and creaking wood. And so, the small radius about Bernadetta’s table had, suddenly, become very crowded and very full of strangers. Strangers with the most terrifying and malicious of intents: they wanted to _chat_.

Bernadetta shrunk into her seat and the two tables started to get strung together with conversation. Caspar yelling at everyone, Dorothea apologizing, and introducing herself, to the guard, and the Professor politely addressing any questions. Thankfully, Bernadetta’s rabbit-like demeanor seemed to spare her the attention of anyone she didn’t already know. Anyone but one watch member, who made a show of looking around, but, unmistakably, kept sneaking glances at Bernadetta.

The watch member looked barely older than Roderick, and her voice dripped with a familiar exuberance that Bernadetta just couldn’t place. In fact, a lot of her mannerisms were oddly familiar. Her determined gaze, the small, confident smirk she carried, her short bob of hair. Then, it dawned on Bernadetta. This woman was the spitting image, at least personality-wise, of a young Leonie. “So, you’re a general?” she said to the Professor, who hesitated a moment before nodding slowly.

“I _was_ a general,” the Professor corrected. “I guess I still technically hold the rank. For now, I’m just a traveler.”

“Well, never heard of even a was-general braving a dirty old tavern with his troops. Good on you, I really respect that. And, if I may ask, who is your friend, there?”

Not-Leonie finally looked directly at Bernadetta. It was a sharp gaze, searching and inquisitive, like Bernadetta was a piece in some sort of puzzle.

“This is Bernadetta,” the Professor said, seeing that Bernadetta was too paralyzed to respond.

“So _you’re_ Lady Bernadetta,” not-Leonie said, leaning back and crossing her arms.

“Y-you know about me? Why would you know about me?! Should I, um… should I know about you?”

Not-Leonie laughed, shaking her head. “I should hope not. I’m just a member of the watch. Surely not important enough for a noble like yourself. But… wow. _You’re_ Lady Bernadetta.”

Bernadetta nodded shakily. Hadn’t they established that already?

“I’m sorry,” not-Leonie said, “I don’t mean to be rude. I just expected some fairytale princess, or one of those heroines from the old tales. You’re pretty normal. That’s all.”

“W-well, I’m glad I’m not _not_ normal, I guess. But what would make you think I’m anything more than that?”

“Well, it’s, ah… it’s the way Rod talks about you.”

Bernadetta raised an eyebrow. “Roderick _talks_ about me?”

“Of course. He really looks up to you, you know. Can’t really see why. Oh, no offense, Lady Bernadetta.”

“N-no, no it’s fine! I just, um, didn’t know I had a fan,” Bernadetta said, unable to hide her smile. “I haven’t done anything to deserve one, that’s for sure.”

“Well, you listen, right? He’s always going on about those folk tales of his. Besides taking orders, he’s got a lot of trouble talking to people outside of me and his parents. And you, apparently,” not-Leonie said with a skeptical smirk. “Name’s Katarina, by the way. Friends call me Kat. Not that we’re friends. I mean, who makes friends that fast?”

Bernadetta’s eyes shot over to Caspar, who already had an arm around one of the other watch members. They were chortling about something, something which the others around the table were egging them on about. Katarina, who had followed Bernadetta’s gaze, whistled. “Alright, well, _most_ people don’t make friends that fast.”

“Well, he’s a special case,” Bernadetta said, a bit suspicious about what they could all be collaborating on. “So, um, can I ask how you know Roderick?”

“Sounds like you just did. Kidding! Don’t give me that look. Me ‘n Rod grew up together, knew him and his folks since I was a kid. The Gatehouse is kind of a home away from home, you know?”

“Oh, I definitely know _that_ feeling. N-not about The Gatehouse specifically. But, um, the rooms here _are_ starting to feel quite homely.”

“Yeah, if you like living in a box.”

Bernadetta giggled. “I _like_ living in a box! Snug, safe, secure – oh, it’s _perfect_.”

Katarina shook her head, still smirking skeptically. “I… won’t judge. Just glad old Ben’ll be getting one less complaint this month.”

Bernadetta heard Roderick’s voice emerge from the din of the tavern around them. “Oh, hey Kat! Done with your shift?”

“Yeah. Let me tell ya, it was nothing but trouble.”

“You say that after _every_ shift,” he shot back, wheeling around the table with everyone’s food.

“Well, maybe it’s _true_ after every shift.”

“Hey, Roderick!” Caspar bellowed, still snickering with his collaborators. Roderick, who had just put the last bowl of food on the table, looked up like a deer that just heard a branch snap.

“Y-yes? What can I get for you, sir?”

“Well, _I_ heard,” Caspar began, leaning in with the entire other table, “that your old man’s got an open challenge around here. That true?”

“Oh, that. Hah, yeah. If you can out-wrestle him fair and square, he’ll let ya give out drinks for the rest of the night.”

The other table went up with a cheer, its occupants rushing to clap Caspar on the back encouragingly. Caspar’s next words came out shakily under the barrage of friendly back-claps. “W-well wha-hat hap-pens if I lu-hose?”

“You clean the bar,” Roderick said. Caspar looked down the room-length slab of wood and whistled.

“Why does it look so _dirty_?”

“Well, nobody’s taken my pa up in a while. Nobody can beat him. B-but, you’re of course welcome to try, sir.”

“Well, nobody’s been _me_ before!” Caspar said with a confident grin. The other table cheered again, ignoring how much sense Caspar’s words didn’t make.

“Caspar,” Dorothea said, exasperated. “You_ already_ have free food and drinks for the night.”

“Well, yeah, _I_ do. But that’d be no fair! If I’m gonna get everyone else free drinks, I’m gonna _earn_ it.”

“Well said!” a booming voice issued from behind the bar. Bennet, somehow looking larger than before, emerged, mantling the bar with terrifyingly unexpected agility. “So, you think you can take me, eh?”

“Oh I _know_ I can,” Caspar said, his grin turning defiant. Bernadetta had seen that same grin at the start of every battle.

“That. Is. The. _Spirit_, young man!” Bennet bellowed, laughing heartily. “Hey, listen up! We’ve got us a _challenger_.”

Hoops and hollers filled the tavern to the rafters, and the floor in front of the band vacated itself of townsfolk. Bennet walked through the crowds that were forming around the to-be challenge ring, parting it like a galleon with Caspar in his wake – hilariously smaller, but with just as much confidence. Bernadetta and Dorothea hopped up onto the table, sitting on opposite ends to counterbalance each other. The Professor elected to stand. All three of them craned their necks, getting a clear view of the match to come.

Bennet took one end of the floor, Caspar the other. The band started playing with quick, suspenseful notes, every instrument contributing to the band’s combined drum-roll. The crowd was silent. Bernadetta hadn’t known the tavern _could_ be less than deafening. Finally, Roderick slipped his way out of the crowd and stood between the two challengers.

“L-ladies and gentlemen! Uh, hello! Today, this, uh- Caspar has challenged Bennet Brime to his, uh, challenge! Should he win, he may impart drinks to whomever he wishes!”

The crowd cheered briefly, a brief bark in the night.

“Should he _lose_, he must clean… the _bar_.”

A group “ooo” issued from everyone around, including everyone at, and on, Bernadetta’s table.

“No tricks, fight with honor, and a pin ‘till count-a ten wins. Ready? Steady? Alrighty. Go!”

It was like someone pulled the lid off of a boiling pot. The crowd exploded with cheers and jeers, both for, and against, Caspar. It was hard not to get caught up in it. Even Bernadetta felt the excitement, the roar of the whole tavern getting between her ears and lifting her up. “You’ve got this, Caspar!” she yelled, throwing both arms in the air. Dorothea offered her own “yeah!” alongside her friend.

Caspar and Bennet opened like two sides of a funhouse mirror. Bennet crouched forward and charged with his arms out and forward, resembling a bear in both stance and size. Caspar did the same, with the exact same demeanor, except he was very much smaller than Bennet. Their cries came together and reached a crescendo as they clashed in the center, the crowd, somehow, getting even louder.

Bennet swung both arms in in a great, clawed vice, the inescapable hug crushing Caspar. Except Caspar wasn’t there. Bennet tumbled forward, grasping air. Below his wild swing, Caspar had dove for his knees. He wrapped both arms around Bennet’s legs, the entire weight of Caspar’s dive collapsing into the same vice-like maneuver. Bennet’s legs gave under the two unstoppable sources of momentum: Bennet’s own body, above, swinging his considerable mass forward, and Caspar’s body, below, plunging Bennet’s legs backwards.

Bennet collapsed forward, his roar pitching up in surprise. The crowd, also shocked, pitched their own cries up as well. Bennet hit the floor with a resounding wallop, shaking even Bernadetta’s far-off table. Caspar had rolled swiftly to one side to avoid Bennet’s falling form, and scrambled to his feet with a speed that only someone his size could manage. “Gotcha!” Caspar hollered to the delight of the crowds, who sent up a deafening “woah!”

Caspar wheeled about and jumped in the air, face-down, limbs spread, intending to bring his body slamming down on the still-prone Bennet. With another burst of terrifyingly surprising agility, Bennet rolled himself out, then kicked his body upright. Caspar was now facing the tavern floor. In the brief time that remained before his face became one with the wood, Caspar sighed and thought solemnly on his fate. He smacked into the ground with a cry that sounded something like “blurgh!”, and the laughing groans of the crowd wove its way into their cheers.

But they weren’t just laughing and groaning at Caspar’s face-planting woes. Already falling, with grim inevitability, was Bennet. Bennet’s entire body, spread out like Caspar’s, except he could cover a considerable amount of the floor with _his_ maneuver. He crashed into Caspar with a sympathetic “oh!” from the crowd.

Bernadetta knew that Caspar wasn’t one to quit. But, she also couldn’t see how Caspar could come back from that one. She couldn’t even _see_ Caspar anymore. Mercifully, the count-up started from Roderick. The whole crowd helped him, voices step-marching towards ten. Bernadetta could hear Bennet’s muffled laughter above it all. His face, too, was flat against the floorboards, but he didn’t seem in too much a hurry to change that. Finally, on ten, he stood, pulling Caspar up with him.

“Hey, give it up for the challenger! He sure did try, yeah?”

“Yeah!” the whole tavern yelled, the respectful circle of combat immediately collapsing in. Both Caspar and Bennet were swarmed by rowdy spectators. Somehow, Bennet managed to move them all towards the bar.

Caspar looked like a riding wyvern had just trampled him. Which, in terms of total weight, wasn’t far from the truth. Still, he bore the biggest, goofiest grin. “You’re _mine_ next time,” he managed through breathless chuckles.

“Oho! Listen to _this_ one! Alright, settle down. I’ll tell ya what. You’ve still gotta clean the bar. _But_, I’ll serve ya drinks ‘till you’re done. Deal?”

Caspar caught the rag that Bennet tossed his way. He slapped it down onto the counter.

“Bennet, I _knew_ you were my kind-a guy.”

==========

Bernadetta slumped against the door, glad to finally be somewhere relatively quiet. Better yet, that somewhere quiet was her room. She kicked her boots into a corner and scooped one of her books out of her bag. Then, she plopped down onto the side of the bed. Alone time. Sweet, merciful, life-giving alone time. The only thing that could make this better was the Professor.

She cracked open her book, but her thoughts couldn’t stop racing. She had actually had a lot of fun in the tavern. Roderick’s story was interesting, Caspar’s fight still made her giddy, and she hadn’t even noticed how normally she was talking to Katarina. She leaned back until her head touched the wall – a very short distance to travel in this room. What if she had just escaped like she meant to? What if she had missed the whole night?

A knock sounded on the door. Bernadetta jumped, slamming the top of her head against the wall. Rubbing the spot tenderly, she got up and stood directly behind the door. “W-who is it?”

“Just me, Bernie.”

Bernadetta smiled and flung the door open. _Now_ her alone time was perfect.

“Bylie!” she chirped, taking his hand and pulling him into the room. He had the wherewithal to pull the door shut behind him. “Tonight was so much fun! I thought I’d _hate_ spending time in the tavern. But I talked to people, and – and Caspar? I can’t believe I saw Bennet _fight_! Did you know he could move like that? And they were so friendly after! Oh, Bylie, I—”

Bernadetta collapsed into a pile of giggles on the edge of the bed. The Professor sat down next to her, an appreciable smile on his face. “Bernie, you don’t know how happy that makes me.”

“Why’s that?” she said, scooching closer.

“Because _you’re_ happy.”

Bernadetta laughed and threw her arms around him, mimicking the opening move from the match earlier. It turned into a tackle, and she pulled him, sideways, onto the bed. Her book tumbled to the ground. When had she dropped it? She forgot. She forgot a lot of things. Bernadetta indulged in the warmth, the support, of the Professor’s arms around her waist. She hummed happily and nuzzled into the crook of his neck. The room was suddenly very quiet again.

It was an odd thought, but whenever they held each other like this, Bernadetta always became acutely aware that she was breathing. Maybe it was the warmth of her breath, bouncing against his skin back to her, leaving little goosebumps on him she could feel against her cheek. Or, maybe, in the comfortable silence of their room, it was how she could hear every quaver, every irregularity in her slow, shaky breaths. Or, maybe, it was the steady rise and fall of the Professor’s chest, giving her a pace she found hard not to follow.

Whatever the reason, it made Bernadetta self-conscious. And when she felt self-conscious about something, she usually ruined it by thinking about how she might be ruining it. She took increasingly shorter and shakier breaths, until, finally, the Professor noticed.

“Bernie, hey,” he said, rubbing her back in small circles, soothing the air back into her. “Are you thinking about breathing again?”

“Yes!” came her high-pitched, strangled response. She gasped a lungful of air, coughing it back out and eliciting some supportive back-pats from the Professor. “Thanks, Bylie,” she wheezed, trying to think of anything else instead. The Professor laughed softly. Bernadetta pouted in response.

“Sorry. Here, if you want to think about breathing, just listen to me.” The Professor took in a slow, steady breath through his nose, letting it out lazily through his mouth. In through his nose, out through his mouth. Bernadetta followed along. In through her nose, out through her mouth. In, and then out. In, out. She clung to him tighter, riding the motion of his breaths. In, and then out. In, out. Soon, she was calm again. She had no idea how he did it.

It was always like that with him. The little things that bothered her, the ones that turned into big things when she thought about them, shrunk back down when the Professor was around. She felt safe with him. Secure. His embrace a small bastion – a little sanctuary that she could bring with her anywhere.

Bernadetta’s thoughts wandered to the town, to Roderick’s stories. She suddenly felt very, overwhelmingly, guilty. She broke their embrace, pushing herself up from the Professor’s chest, planting a hand on either side of his head and holding her own weight above him. “I shouldn’t rely on you so much,” she said, unable to look him in the eye. Instead, she looked anywhere else on him, including places that drew color to her cheeks. “I’ve got to grow out, you know? I can’t do that if I’m always clinging to you.”

The Professor nodded, reaching a hand up to cup her cheek. She leaned into his touch. A small sigh escaped her. He took the time to search her expression, eyes flitting back and forth, bringing to bear all the cleverness and focus that he brought to every battle. “You know, the towns in Faerghus are all but glorified fortresses,” he began, gently brushing her cheek under his thumb. Bernadetta closed her eyes contentedly, nodding her head to show that she was listening.

“Surrounded by walls,” he continued, “there always comes a time when, eventually, there’s nowhere left to build. Nowhere but up, but not every building’s meant to be tall. Towns eventually spread out. So, you know what they do? How they handle their walls?” Bernadetta tilted her head. Just where was he going with this? He leaned up to plant a kiss on her temple, then strained his torso to stay and hugged her warmly.

“They build them again,” he said, his voice suddenly very close. Bernadetta’s breath hitched. He was so very _close_. “Then, they take the inner ones down. The town comes together, and _all_ of it grows. That’s why towns in Faerghus have so many layers.” She could hear – she could feel – his breath against her ear. In, and then out. In, out. She shivered in more than delight.

“But, isn’t that a lot of work?” Bernadetta asked, not daring more than a whisper. The Professor laughed softly again. He never laughed quite like that in front of others. It was heavenly. Just for her.

“It’s worth it,” he concluded, letting himself plop back down to the sheets. Bernadetta immediately felt how far away he was again. She felt better, though. Less guilty and scared.

“I should still try to do more on my own.”

The Professor nodded. “And when you venture out, we’ll make sure all you grow into stays safe again. I’ll always be here for you. Wherever you go.”

Bernadetta let her arms quit, falling onto the Professor. He caught her with a small “unf,” which turned into another laugh.

“Thank you, Byleth,” she muttered into wherever her mouth landed. She didn’t really care. She just wanted to be close again. “But you know what the thing with walls is?”

The Professor lifted his head to look at Bernadetta. She took the chance to pounce her lips upon his, both of them laughing into their blind, clumsy kiss.

“The town’s got to keep its walls safe, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my Bylie-bear, [Allekha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allekha), for reading and editing. Love you!


	4. Love, War, and Donnel's Gate (II)

Whenever Bernadetta and the Professor woke up together, it was always in one of two ways.

One: a neat, orderly cuddle, bodies flush together, arms cradling one another, legs intertwined _just_ right.

Two: a mess.

The latter was more common than the former. Despite being an accomplished all-day bed-stayer, Bernadetta was a very chaotic sleeper. She tossed, she turned, she hugged everything on the bed, and, according to the Professor, she liked to roll appreciable distances. Some nights, she would tour the length and breadth of their bed, ending up in new and exciting places – like wedged between the mattress and the headboard or draped precariously across a corner of the bedframe.

That morning, Bernadetta woke up with her legs dangling off one edge – across and over the Professor’s waist – and her head pressed uncomfortably into the wall next to them. She had also, at some point in the night, changed into her bedrobe. She patted herself down. _Only_ her bedrobe. Bernadetta concentrated on lifting the morning fog from her sleepy head, and last night emerged in a flash of emotions. Very strong, very heady emotions. She blushed. Had they really done that _here_?

Bernadetta self-consciously tugged at the hem of her bedrobe, making sure it was securely past her knees. “Bylie?” she whispered, using her legs like a belt to gently rock the Professor to and fro. His eyes squeezed shut, then slowly opened, heavy-lidded and unfocused. Unlike Bernadetta, the Professor was, at least physically, a very calm sleeper. She could set him down at night any way she liked, come back eight hours later, and pick him up in the exact same position.

The Professor also almost always slept in nothing but his undergarments – a habit Bernadetta wasn’t in any rush to break.

“G’morn, Ber-da-netta.”

Bernadetta snickered. No-one else saw this side of him. For a few fleeting seconds each morning, the Professor was the dumbest person for miles. It was endearing.

“Hey there, Bylie-bear,” she said, beaming and flopping about until she was face-to-face with the Professor. “Do you, um, know where my clothes are?”

The Professor pointed a toe at a pile of garments at the foot of their bed. “Try not to put mine on this time.”

“What if I _want_ to put yours on?” Bernadetta said with a giggle, sitting up and tidying the pile into an easy to carry clump. “These are all going in our laundry bag. We’ve been traveling for two whole days, after all.”

“Good point and good thinking, Bernie.” The Professor sat up as well, then fell to one side and dragged Bernadetta down into a hug. Bernadetta plummeted with a small, delighted shriek.

“Morning, Bernie.”

“Mornin’, Bylie.” Bernadetta cast a glance backwards at the wall. “Say, there’s no way anyone heard us last night, right?”

The Professor put a hand to his chin, pondering as well. Before he could offer his professional opinion on the dampening qualities of shoddy inn-room walls, the Professor and Bernadetta were both startled by a sharp slam reverberating from somewhere below. It was followed by the frenzied gallop of dozens of footsteps thudding on wood, a cacophony of voices shouting and counter-shouting and counter-counter-shouting into the rafters.

Bernadetta had served long enough to know that stamping feet and raised voices meant trouble. She and the Professor spared only the briefest of moments to lock eyes and confirm that their thoughts were in concert. The next moments were important. They needed them to leap out of bed and rummage for their gear.

==========

Bernadetta woke with a start. What was that sound? Was there someone in her room?! But how! The door was locked! Did Ingrid knock it down _again_? She willed herself upright and looked about, blurry-eyed, alertness well-nurtured by years of paranoia. She was alone. Thank the Goddess. Still, what _was_ that sound?

It happened again. Bernadetta dove for the sheets. There was no mistaking it. It was the worst, most terrifying noise that could ever curse her poor, skittish ears.

Someone was knocking.

“Bernadetta? Morning lecture starts in five. Are you awake?”

Five _minutes_?!

“Um, y-yeah!” she yelled from under the covers. “I’m _totally_ awake. N-no need to worry about me, Professor! I’ll be right there, so feel free to, um, go on ahead?”

“Are you going to go back to sleep again if I do?”

Darn. How did he always know these things?

“Alright, j-just, uh, give me a minute!”

“It’s your lucky day. You have a whole _five_.”

Bernadetta only needed one. She usually bathed and laid her clothes out at night, if only because she hated being rushed in the morning. She also knew exactly where everything she needed was in the organized mess that was her room. Alas, she ended up rushing most mornings anyways.

When Bernadetta stumbled out of her room, clothes messy and bookbag bursting from hasty, poor packing, the Professor was waiting patiently for her, looking over a bundle of notes in his arms.

“You’re shockingly efficient at waking up late, you know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she whined, tugging the hem of her skirt into place. The Professor tidied his notes, then started for the classroom alongside Bernadetta.

“It means you have a very niche skill, though one I wish you wouldn’t practice so often.”

“Sorry, Professor. There’s just so much I want to do, and, sometimes, night’s the only time I can do it.”

“Why’s that?” the Professor asked, waving off-handedly to a couple of other students rushing to a different class.

“Well, you know how all those other students have been inva- I mean, _joining_ our class? Seems like nowadays I can’t walk ten feet without someone trying to say ‘hi’ to me.”

“You don’t like your new classmates?” The Professor’s brows tilted up slightly, creasing in the center. Was he… worried?

“I don’t like _anyone_ new, Professor,” Bernadetta said in what she hoped was a reassuring tone. “But, I guess some of them are alright. My safe little corner’s starting to get _way_ crowded, though.”

“I didn’t know the monastery was giving out classroom corners,” the Professor said wryly. “Only Leonie’s moved back there, you know.”

“_Only_? That’s twice as many people! Way crowded,” Bernadetta shot back with a giggle. Chatting with the Professor was fun. She was glad there was someone around there she could talk to so freely.

All too soon, they were at the classroom. Half the class was already there, idling, talking, or diligently preparing class materials. It was easy to tell who was there to learn, who was there to be there, and who was there despite themselves.

Bernadetta peeked around the doorframe. The Professor strode directly in.

==========

Bernadetta and the Professor shot out of the stairwell, packs in tow, hair and clothes a hasty mess. If they hadn’t had the wherewithal to look before leaping the last couple of steps, they would have barreled straight into Edelgard and Hubert, already observing the scene from the edges of the tavern.

Near the middle of the room, a small maelstrom of confused and concerned people milled about, their relative level of distress increasing the closer they were to the center. The periphery swirled with curious townsfolk and tavern patrons, necks craning, toes tipping, each busy trying to learn what was actually happening while trading ignorant guesses with other equally ignorant guessers around them.

Past them was a small mob armed seemingly at random. Axes, swords, spears, bows – actually, most of them had bows – and varying assortments of dubious-grade protection, from thicker-than-average farm clothes to old, rusty hauberks. Bernadetta had fought alongside, and against, many such folk in the past. They were militia. Though they might not have known _exactly_ why they were there, they knew enough to know that, if they were called, it surely wasn’t something good.

Forming a tighter circle about the center was a more uniform group. The same lightly plated mail, the same spears, the same kettle-top helms – all signatures of the town watch. Unlike the militia, they _did_ know exactly why they were there. It showed in their worried glances and loud, nervous chatter, though they kept their ranks well enough.

Finally, at the very center, at the eye of the storm, two towering figures, calm above all, stood and conversed. One of them was Bennet, the other an armored man roughly the same size and stature as he. Both were speaking in grave tones that emanated outwards, to the distress of all.

“Professor,” Edelgard said, head turning slightly but eyes remaining fixed. “It seems I have beaten you here. I hope the married life has not yet dulled your senses.” She was garbed in last night’s cloak, likely at Hubert’s insistence, and, though she couldn’t see it, Bernadetta could definitely hear Edelgard’s small, satisfied smirk.

“Maybe not dulled,” the Professor said, “but definitely preoccupied. What’s happening here? Is something wrong?”

“Quite,” Hubert said, eyes transfixed the same as Edelgard’s. “As far as we could garner, it seems that ‘suspicious something’ that Hanneman and Manuela stumbled across at the gatehouse last night was a sign of tampering. A sign which led to an arrest, and an arrest which led to an interrogation. Had I known, I would have offered my… considerable expertise in the area.” Hubert flashed a smirk that reminded Bernadetta of why she used to run away from him.

“Luckily, _that_ was not necessary,” Edelgard said, unable to keep the admonishment from her tone. “The town watch managed to extract the information themselves. Professor, do you remember last night? The bandits that Bennet inquired after? Well, it seems there might have been merit to the rumors. Those taken into custody were scouts, sent to sabotage the gate and reconnoiter the town.”

“Were they successful?” the Professor asked, hand on chin. Bernadetta could see the wheels start to turn, eyes flitting back and forth as though he were physically viewing the possibilities before him.

“At the first? Yes. The watch are doing what they can to repair the damage. At the second? No. The town has only one gate, and the culprits were caught trying to leave through it.” Edelgard turned to the Professor, waiting for whatever it was he was pondering. He put a hand on her shoulder. They were to stay where they were, for now.

The Professor set his pack down, then strode forward into the crowds.

==========

The Professor began his walk to the front, a classroom ritual that involved a lot of stopping to answer questions. Some of those questions were even class-related. But a lot of the students were just looking to gab. Bernadetta’s heart sank just a bit. Of _course_ she had fun chatting with him. He was like that with everyone.

Still peeking around the doorframe, Bernadetta checked left, and then right, then scampered to her corner, crouching slightly to avoid notice. It worked, or maybe no-one cared that it didn’t. Either way, she made it to her seat without further human interaction. She planted her bookbag like a flag on a hill, then unpacked everything she needed for class: quills, ink, notebooks, slate, chalk, textbooks, and, most crucially, her doodle-book.

Bernadetta had heard somewhere once that doodling could help one concentrate in class. She wasn’t sure if that was true. But she was sure that she _loved_ to doodle. Instead of littering the fringes of her actual notes with her artistic wanderings, Bernadetta decided to quarantine them to a dedicated notebook. She opened said notebook to the last page she was on, but, scanning the page, blushed and quickly flipped to the next. She looked around, panic starting in her chest. Had anyone seen? No, thank the Goddess. Everyone was busy being _social_.

“Hey, Bernadetta!”

Bernadetta shrieked, covering her head with her doodle-book. “I-I’m sorry! I wasn’t _trying_ to avoid you, I swear! I just happened to stumble upon this _really_ sneaky path through the classroom and—”

“Woah, hey, I – phew!” A breathless Leonie collapsed two seats over from Bernadetta, a stack of books cascading from her arms with a rippling clap. “You know what? Nevermind,” she panted. “Get it out of your system.”

“Oh, it’s you,” Bernadetta said, her system no longer needing to be humored. “What a relief. Are you, um, o-okay?”

“Oh, yeah, I just—” Leonie stopped again to catch her breath, stretching her neck one way, then the other. Bernadetta was surprised that Leonie even _could_ get tired. “I offered to carry Hilda’s books to her classroom, and Linhardt’s books to _this_ classroom, and Marianne’s books to the library. Gotta get that training in whenever you can, right? But where’s Linhardt?”

“H-he’s, um, probably not coming. If I had to guess. Probably.”

“Shoulda known.” Leonie shoved half the pile in front of her to the next seat over and plopped her head down on the remaining books.

“Umm, Leonie? Can I ask you something?” Bernadetta said, taking her doodle-book off her head and fiddling with the pages.

“Shoot.”

“Why would you go out of your way to do all that? It can’t just be to get some extra training in.”

“Huh.” Leonie scratched her head, refusing to move it from its textbook pedestal. “Well, why did you fix my sleeve?”

“Because it, um, needed fixing, and I thought, maybe, you might, um, maybe need some help. N-not that I thought you were helpless or anything, I just… yup.” Bernadetta had learned that, left without a stopper, her sentences could fizzle on long after anyone cared to listen.

Leonie flashed her a grin. “So you _do_ understand. Still holdin’ strong, by the way,” she said, flexing her arm demonstrably. “My hunting trousers could use a bit of work around the knees, though. I could cook you something up in return?”

“O-okay!” Bernadetta said, perking up. It felt good to be useful. “But, um, only if you promise not to take them off in front of everyone.”

Leonie laughed and shook her head, but her response was cut off by the familiar sound of the Professor’s knuckles rapping on the front chalkboard.

“Alright, let’s all settle down. Unless you’d like to stay late, I’d like to get started. We’ve got a long lecture to get through, and that’s not including discussion time.”

The talking died down, the more carefree students first finishing their conversations, and everyone settled in for the morning lecture.

“Today, we’ll be discussing tactics and command employed during defensive siege engagements.”

==========

“A _siege_?”

Caspar’s voice came croaking from the stairwell, followed shortly by Caspar himself. He swung around the last flight of stairs at a ragged hustle, all but slamming into the wall. Dorothea appeared after him, significantly more composed.

“No, it is unlikely these bandits will have the luxury of something so drawn out,” Edelgard said from under her cloak. “Assuming the watch has already sent riders, the nearest garrison will be here in half a day.” Edelgard’s cloak shuffled as her hand went to her hip. “It would be more accurate to call it a siege engagement.”

Bernadetta froze, motor functions temporarily subsumed under the brief, but intense, debate between her halves. She had learned during the war that it was a waste of time to try and stop her hands from shaking in situations like these. Instead, she had become remarkably adept at preparing while trembling like a leaf. It was a niche skill, one she wished she didn’t have so much practice in.

Bernadetta felt her fists clench and unclench. She could move again. She reached for her longbow.

“We’ve horses and wheeled transports. It is probable that we could reach the safety of the garrison before the bandits could catch us. Lady El, would it not be more prudent to slip out while we have the chance?” Hubert voiced what none there would dare: the possibility of escape. The mere mention uncorked everyone’s misgivings. Soon, they were all arguing the same as the rest of the tavern.

Everyone but Bernadetta. She _hated_ social conflict. She focused instead on securing her longbow in the tavern floor. It was a bit slick from having been cleaned that morning, but she found a grain in the wood that fit the tip of the bowlimb perfectly. Her other hand was already holding the bowstring from her pack. When had she retrieved it? It didn’t matter, she had to concentrate.

“Bern, what are you doing?”

The motions were mechanical, like sewing or painting. Still, Bernadetta _had_ to concentrate. Loop string over top. Hook on bottom nock. Step over with left leg. Hold bow still with right—

“Bernadetta.”

Bernadetta snapped to attention. A stern Edelgard was impossible to ignore, and this one was staring straight at her. Dorothea, too – no, all of them. All of her friends were staring. Bernadetta was suddenly very aware that she existed. “W-well, we’re going to fight, right?” She pulled her arms towards herself. “As much as I want to run away and go home – and, trust me, I _really_ want to go home – there’s no _way_ we can let these people fight alone. Right? Am I – am I wrong?”

A brief silence ensued. Unsurprisingly, it was Caspar who broke it.

“Well heck yeah, Bernadetta, of _course_ you’re not wrong!” His voice was haggard, but his spirit was not. “If there’s gonna be a fight here, then I’m gonna be here to fight it!” Caspar clapped Bernadetta on the back. She almost twirled all the way around her longbow, but managed to stay standing.

“You’re right, Bern. As much as I hate battle, we have to keep as many people from getting hurt as we can.” Dorothea opted to give Bernadetta a much gentler back-pat, which Bernadetta was able to handle with grace.

“Of course. The choice is clear. No, there is not even a choice to be made. I will _not_ stand idly by while those who entrust me with rule are in peril.” To Bernadetta’s great relief, Edelgard refrained from a physical gesture of solidarity.

“It seems we are all dead-set on staying. _Even_ the skittish Bernadetta.” Hubert smirked, sending just one shiver down Bernadetta’s spine. Before, it might have sent five or six. He then bowed his head in concession. “Very well. If it is Our Lady’s wish, I shall harken to it.”

Bernadetta picked up her longbow, which she apparently had finished stringing, and started pulling and relaxing the bowstring to coax it into a full draw. It was nice that she wasn’t wrong, but she didn’t think they’d really run from a battle with innocent lives on the line. Especially not with the Professor here.

Bernadetta craned her neck to find where the Professor had gone, but found that it wasn’t necessary. He was already returning, which made Bernadetta happy. However, he wasn’t returning alone, which did not make Bernadetta happy. Not only was he not alone, he was _extremely_ not alone. The entire tavern was swirling after him, towed by the gravity of the two walking alongside him: Bennet, and Bennet’s armored counterpart.

Bernadetta blanched. She only managed to stay her feet by reminding herself that a tavern’s worth of people probably wasn’t congregating to judge her, talk to her, or, hopefully, even notice her. Hopefully. _Hopefully_. She felt her longbow reach a satisfying draw, then scooched behind her friends to secure it to her pack. And to make sure her hopes came true.

“Everyone,” the Professor began, stopping the migration just short of Bernadetta-and-friends, “this isn’t exactly in the best interest of the safety of Lady El, but I’d like to offer our services in defense of Donnel’s Gate.” The Professor was addressing all of them, but looked directly at Bernadetta. “Will you help me?”

Though Bernadetta nodded, it was Edelgard who voiced her response. “It seems we have beaten you again, my teacher. We have already committed to assisting in the town’s defense.” Again, that satisfied smirk tinged her words.

“Thank you,” the Professor said, allowing himself a small, relieved smile. “Together, I _know_ we can do this.” Atop his relief, Bernadetta saw the pull of pride rounding his cheeks. She smiled, too. Both his pride and relief were infectious.

The Professor turned to the two next to him. “Bennet, Captain Danton. I said I was a general, but not a general of what. Me and my traveling companions were with the Black Eagle Strike Force, directly under Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg.” He gestured to his fellow strike force members, including the still-disguised Edelgard. She took the hint and stowed whatever comment she was about to make. “With your blessing, and your permission, I would like to assume command of the defense of Donnel’s Gate.”

Bennet whistled. “If you’d’ve told me that before, Traveler, I would’ve treated you ‘n yours with a mite finer ale. I’m not in any place to give blessings’n all that, but I trust you wouldn’t’ve offered if you didn’t know what you were doin’, eh?” Bennet bowed with a surprisingly formal salute.

“Indeed,” Bennet’s armored counterpart, who was assumedly Captain Danton, agreed. Now that he was up-close, Bernadetta saw how accurate of a word ‘counterpart’ was. He was the spitting image of Bennet, if a tad older, with non-neglected musculature, a well-kept moustache, and none of Bennet’s inherent joviality. The Captain frowned contentedly, nodding his head. “If you lot were with the Black Eagle Strike Force, then we’ve served together. Briefly. I was with the main body of the army during the attack on Arianrhod. You pulled _that_ off, so I’d wager you know a thing or two about fortifications. We’d be more than happy to accept your help.”

The Professor nodded back, doubly relieved. “Thank you, both of you. Everyone? Let’s discuss the defense.”

==========

“A natural starting point for discussing defensive siege engagements is with sieges at large.” The Professor scanned the classroom, then found a satisfactory target. “Ingrid. What broad categories of attack might a besieging army employ?”

“Right, Professor.” Ingrid stood with just a bit too much enthusiasm, almost knocking Felix’s quill out of his hand. She had gotten a question wrong when they were learning about sieges last week, and was determined to avoid the taste of scholastic defeat again. “There are two general strategies of attack: dispersed and focused. Dispersed strategies, such as encirclement, seek to overwhelm the defenders at all points of a defense. Focused strategies, such as sapping, seek to exploit, or create, a weakness at one or more points in a defense.” Ingrid gave a thumbs-up to Felix, who groaned and put his face in his hands. He had helped her study all last week, but didn’t exactly want the word to spread. If anyone else knew he was _helping_ people, they might try to take him away from his valuable training time.

“Good, Ingrid! That’s correct. Now then, let’s consider these strategies for a single battle _in_ a siege. What might it look like when the attackers decide to finally assault the walls?”

“Oh, still me? Right, Professor!” Ingrid’s expression set with a determined smirk. She looked like she had just been challenged to a friendly duel. “I suppose that depends on how well the attackers prepared for the siege beforehand. Given infinite time or labor, they could destroy every wall with sappers, rams, or artillery and turn it into a field battle. They could also swarm the walls by wheeling siege towers or setting ladders.”

Felix crossed his arms and snorted, drawing the class’ attention. “Yes, Felix?” the Professor asked. He was always like this when it came to discussing tactics. Any other teacher might have been annoyed, but the Professor sounded inviting. Bernadetta had no idea where he kept all of that patience.

“I know you like wasting your time on fairytales, Ingrid, but it’s pointless to talk about defense against besiegers with _infinite_ time and labor.” Felix directed his comments at Ingrid, but faced the Professor while he spoke. “If the difference in strength was _that_ overwhelming, you’d be better off surrendering, anyway. Besides, you’d be hard-pressed to find enough fools to throw themselves at the full length of a wall when all you need is to breach the defense _somewhere_. A competent commander would focus their assault on one or two points, then dismantle the defenses from within.”

“A _true_ knight would fight to the last, no matter the odds,” Ingrid said, sticking both hands on her hips combatively. “That goes for defending their liege’s castle _or_ assaulting a fortress for their lord.”

Felix snorted again, frowning at the air. The Professor interceded before their sparring match could continue. “Good, you two. You can sit now, Ingrid. You both raise good points. The danger of a dispersed attack is that your defensive force must spread to match it. However, a dispersed attack requires an overwhelming advantage in troop strength on the side of the attacker. Remember the three-to-one rule? That usually has to hold, and then some, for each side of the assault. Focused attacks on the architectural fragilities of a fortification, such as gates, sally ports, and places with unsound wall construction, are more prudent for the attacker when they have less information on the defensive force’s strength. The _last_ thing a besieging force wants to do is attack their way into a surprise. Or, if they have a good plan to exploit these fragilities, a focused attack, of course, makes sense. More extensive preparation makes any attack easier. The less time they have to prepare, the more haphazard an attacking force’s strategy will be.

“There is one other important point, Felix, about a force’s willingness to fight,” the Professor said, bringing the conversation back around. Felix uncrossed his arms and leaned forward, skeptical but attentive. “As with sieges at large, it helps to think about siege engagements in terms of setting. Not just the where, but the when, and the why. A defensive force could be defending their home and all their loved ones within, and an attacking force could be desperate for supplies or safe harbor. Better to be prepared for a foolish fight than to assume it won’t happen.” Felix nodded, diligently taking notes. Only the Professor could get him to be open like that.

“Now then, let’s take a look at an example scenario,” the Professor said, snatching a book from the top of his note-pile and snapping it open to a bookmarked page. “Please turn to page three-hundred and twenty-four of _Case Studies in Common Battlefield Scenarios_. And yes, Caspar, there are extra copies available. Please take one. _Quietly_. We’ll be discussing the third study from the top: The Assault on the Township of Seriendor. Who would like to read? Annette – Annette, it’s okay! Please keep your shoulder in its socket.” Annette laughed sheepishly, then stood, book cradled and ready to read. She waited for the Professor’s go-ahead.

The Professor nodded. “Let us begin.”

==========

The Professor led their small flock out of the tavern, making for the center of the market yard. Having suddenly found purpose, the confused crowds were buoyed with enthusiasm. Their chatter turned from distress to cautious optimism, excited breaths forming small clouds in the chill Wyvern Moon morning air.

“Just the watch and the militia, then?”

“That’s right,” Captain Danton said. “We usually call the garrison for anything more serious. We’ve already sent riders, but…”

The Professor nodded. They wouldn’t be here in time. “The only times they’d attack are first light and midday,” the Professor said. “Since it’s past first light and we’re not currently fighting for our lives, that means we only have a couple of hours to prepare.”

“Wait, how’d you figure _when_ they’d attack?” Caspar asked, stumbling into line besides Bennet. Bennet, who was well experienced with nursing people through the morning after a night of drink, passed him a cup of something with a familiarly bitter waft. Caspar drank it without looking and without question. “I mean, it’s obviously gotta be before the garrison can reach.”

“The only gate’s west-facing, Caspar,” Dorothea said, restraining herself to only half a teasing tone. “It’s clear from last night that they intend on attacking gate-side, and no commander in their right mind would attack a defensive wall _against_ the sun. So, they either have to attack with the rising light angled behind the wall, or when the sun’s high enough that it doesn’t matter.”

“Good, Dorothea,” the Professor said. “That’s correct.”

“But, can’t we go out and stop them from attacking in the first place?” Dorothea said, pride at her correct assessment being overtaken by worry. “I know _we’ll_ be here, but even a _fortified_ town defense puts the townsfolk in danger.”

“Listen, I’m usually all for running headlong into the enemy. But this time around? Might not be the right move,” Caspar said, groggily holding his head while walking.

“T-that’s right,” Bernadetta jutted in, looking at, and speaking to, only the people she already knew. “We don’t even really know how many of them there _are_ out there, or if we can even find them in time. We _do_ know that they’re gonna attack the town. Might as well wait inside and use the defenses, r-right?”

“Exactly right, Caspar, Bernadetta,” the Professor said. Bernadetta could tell he was in tactician’s mode; he was only using her full first name. “For those same reasons, we also can’t risk an evacuation. It’d be a disaster if the townsfolk were caught out on the roads.”

“It seems we do not have much going our way, save that the fog of war remains set on _both_ sides of the battle,” Hubert said, smirking grimly. “Though we know they are numerous, we have precious little information on the enemy’s troop composition. Likewise, we captured their scouts before they could report on ours. The least we could do is make use of their half of the disadvantage.”

The Professor nodded. “They might assume they have enough to overwhelm the militia and town watch if they were planning on attacking anyway, but they don’t know if their sabotage worked and they don’t know that _we’re_ here. The fact that they haven’t tried a night or early morning assault means their commander is cautious. At least, cautious enough to prepare before acting without sufficient information.”

The Professor stopped. They were at the center of the market yard. The flock about him stopped a bit after, molding into a circle with the Professor at the center.

“I have to say, I’m impressed,” Captain Danton said, fiddling with a strap on his armor. “I knew you were all from the Officer’s Academy, but I didn’t expect every member of the Black Eagle Strike Force to be well versed in tactics. What do you need from us, General?” Captain Danton gestured at the militia and town watch, eager and willing to start on the defense.

“Captain Danton, please have everyone who has, and can use, a bow report to the western wall. Commander Bernadetta, will you take charge of the archers?” The Professor placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it an encouraging squeeze. It was the most affection he could express while maintaining his professionalism, save for the slight mixture of worry and trust that only Bernadetta could glean from his expression.

Bernadetta nodded. She had to be ready. There was no time _not_ to be. “Yes, Professor. You can count on me!” The Professor shared a small, intimate smile with her, then turned back to Captain Danton.

“Have the rest barricade the market yard. It’s the only way to the rest of the town past the gatehouse. We have to make sure no exit to the streets remains unguarded.”

Captain Danton pulled the strap he was fiddling with taut with a snap. “A sound plan. We can form a concave using the surrounding buildings. And will we be graced with one of your Strike Force members?”

“Yes,” the Professor said, waving Caspar over. “Commander Caspar, I want you to work with the watch and militia. Oversee the barricades, and see if there isn’t anything else you can cook up.”

“You got it, Professor,” Caspar said with a salute that looked more enthusiastic than his body was currently capable of. “Saw some oil and fertilizer when I was, uh, takin’ a stroll last night. Might be enough for at least one blaze barrel, if we can find some poor fella willing to lose their cart.”

Caspar strode into the ranks of the watch and militia, who greeted him with various cheers of “challenger!”, “pancake!”, and “bar-cleaner!” Caspar waved them off, but smiled widely from ear-to-ear. “So, who wants to find some poor fella willing to lose their cart?”

“And what about me, Professor?” Dorothea said enthusiastically, not one to be out of the way or useless.

“There’s a church in town. Could you find Manuela and see if any of their healers are willing to volunteer? I’d like you to setup a field hospital somewhere close to the wall.”

Dorothea bowed and winked, then wove her way back to the tavern where Manuela was probably nursing away last night’s festivities. The Professor turned to Edelgard, who was still impatiently holding her tongue.

“Commander El. We’ll be leading your personal guard. Please have them gather in the bunk house. We can talk there.”

Edelgard nodded, keeping her cloak tight around her and making for the bunk house. The Professor stopped Hubert before he could follow.

“Hubert, can you find Professor Hanneman? I have something important I’d like you two to do.”

“As you wish, Professor,” he said a bit reluctantly, making for the gatehouse.

“Captain Danton. Bennet. If you don’t mind, I have some more questions. But, before that, can we talk to your wife, Bennet?”

“Wa-_hut_? My wife? Listen, she’s strong an’ all, but—”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing like that! I was just wondering if she’d put together a pot of something for breakfast. You know what they say, a hungry hero is no better than a well-fed soldier.”

Bennet laughed heartily, clapping Captain Danton on the shoulder to little effect. Bernadetta, who had been saving up social energy by watching the Professor work, turned on her heel and started away under cover of the rest of the purposefully dispersing crowd. She gulped, mouth drying in the cold morning air. She spent most of her time avoiding strangers.

Now, she had to lead them.

==========

“Who can tell me the first steps for establishing command over an unfamiliar defensive force?”

Lysithea’s hand shot up, her whole right side stretching upwards to give her the height she needed to match the rest of the class. Not that she actually needed it. They were glad to let her have that one.

“Lysithea.”

“Yes, Professor! The steps are thus: establish rank, clarify command chain, determine troop composition, define address of command.”

“Good, Lysithea. That’s exactly correct. At least, that’s exactly what it says in your textbook. There are two additional important steps, which are really part of the same important step: learning who the _people_ you are leading are. You can think of it as part of determining troop composition, if you need to organize this somewhere in your notes.” The Professor directed the comment to Lysithea and Annette, who had taken to sitting next to each other in the front row to see who could out-work the other during lecture. They were too busy writing to notice. “This is especially important during defensive siege engagements,” the Professor continued, dusting off an eraser so he could dust off the chalkboard. “You may not get the luxury of choosing _who_ you are defending a town or castle with.

“First, learn who your officers are.” The Professor started a small, two-item list, then almost immediately neglected it. Unless there were by rote formulas or theorems to copy, Bernadetta had learned that listening to his lectures was better than watching them. “Career military leaders, knight captains, heads of provincial militias – your officers occupy diverse and complex positions in the social web of a fighting force. Get a sense of who they’re comfortable with, what troops they work well with and what troops work well with them. A person will fight best for someone they like, value, or respect.

“Second, get to know who your rank-and-file soldiers are. I’m not saying you should hit the tavern with every single soldier under your command,” the Professor said pointedly. Sylvain’s half-raised hand froze, then fell back lazily behind his head. “But, _do_ get a broad picture of where they come from, how they learned to fight. Did they grow up there? Have they fought together for long? Have they had to defend that position, those fortifications, before? Remember that each and every soldier fighting under your command _became_ a soldier somehow. Learn that ‘somehow’, and you will better know your options.”

Bernadetta finished her page of notes, then collapsed her head into her notebook in defeat. She had to get to _know_ people? Just working with the same battalion she’d had for months was hard enough. She built a small castle around her head with her notebook and groaned.

Siege battles would be _impossible_.

==========

Bernadetta bound up the steps to the gatehouse, not the last to arrive but certainly not the first. This wasn’t the first time she would be leading others into battle. In fact, she was quite used to it by now. However, being used to something and looking forward to something were entirely different things.

She narrowly slid by Hanneman and Hubert on their way down from the gatehouse, sufficiently distracted that she almost didn’t recognize them until one of them called out to her. “You’ll do fine, Bernadetta,” Hubert said in passing. Oh no. Was it _that_ obvious? “Just remember your experience and your training. You were taught by the best, after all. Were you not?”

Bernadetta was so taken aback by Hubert’s kindness that she forgot to thank him. But there was time for thanks later. Now? She had to be ready. He was right, she _was_ taught by the best. She took in a shock of cold air through her nostrils, letting it out lazily through her mouth. In, and then out. In, out.

Bernadetta pushed the door to the gatehouse open and strode in with authority. At least, that was her plan. Really, she just focused on not tripping or crouching over defensively. The town defenders gathered there, engaged in a loud and nervous exchange of words, quieted and parted as Bernadetta reached the center of the room. She breathed. In, and then out. She just had to remember her training. Channel the Professor. Be a commander.

“Hello, everyone. I am Commander Bernadetta. I will be in charge of the archers on the western wall. I look forward to working with you. All of you.” But what would the Professor say? “With you by my side, we _will_ win this battle.” She finished with her best attempt at a confident grin.

The gatehouse erupted in a cheer, and Bernadetta’s grin turned earnest. That wasn’t so bad. She just had to remember her training. Speaking of which, what was the next step?

“Commander Bernadetta, it’s a pleasure ta make your ‘quaintence.”

A small clutch of militia, and at least one person in the watch’s uniform, had gathered closely around her. Of course! The command chain.

“Oh no, pleasure’s all mine. You’re all officers from the militia and watch? Good. Who’s your captain?”

“That’d be Captain Danton, commander,” the watch member piped up. “But he’s busy in the yard. When he’s not available, it’s usually—”

“—me!”

A familiar booming voice echoed from the gatehouse stairs, followed by the familiar booming form of Bennet, holding a giant, steaming pot. Another cheer went up. _Everyone_ knew Bennet.

The steam and the scent billowing from the pot gathered everyone in, and around, the gatehouse. “Oatmeal! Get yer barely seasoned, quickly made hot water ‘n oats! Poured a whole _sack_ of sugar in and you can barely taste it!” Bennet set the pot down with a laugh, a clang, and a rattle of bowls and spoons. A line quickly formed, the militia and watch laughing and clamoring alongside Bennet. Roderick snuck out from behind his father’s massive frame to doll out portions. Bernadetta noticed his padded armor, and the bow slung over his shoulder.

“_Captain_ Bennet?” Bernadetta said, asking more than addressing.

“Ah, _Commander_ Bernadetta! Yes, I’m fool enough to fill the role. Wife’s gettin’ my armor ready, then I’ll be all set for whatever comes our way. Traveler said I should report to you.” He saluted, again far more formally than expected. Bernadetta was ecstatic. He was _exactly_ what she needed. Everyone knew Bennet, and Bennet knew everyone.

“I’m glad it’s you, Bennet! I’d like you to be my second in command. And, um, you three. What are your names?”

“Thompsen, wit’ the southfielders.”

“Erika. Townsfolk.”

“Sergeant Ria of the watch, commander.”

“Thompsen. Erika. Ria. You’ll be our relay officers. Repeat mine or Captain Bennet’s commands when you hear them, alright?” They all nodded. Good. The chain was established. “Hey, Bennet. What sort of training do the militia and watch do? Volley drills? Mock sieges?”

“Ah, well, unfortunately, nothin’ of the sort. ‘least for the militia. Most everything the militia’s learned they learned from livin’. Thompsen and the southfielders can shoot farther’n their fields stretch. Just don’t ask ‘em to hit anything,” Bennet said with a chuckle. Thompsen looked about to protest, but shrugged and nodded instead. “Erika and the townsfolk are all a bunch-a guttersnipes,” Bennet continued. “Literally. Spend all day shootin’ hay bales in the alleys for petty bets.”

“They’re _not_ petty,” Erika huffed. “It’s the honor that counts.”

“Right, well, honor doesn’t help ‘em with their draw. Don’t exactly work the fields all day, so they won’t hit hard, but they _will_ hit.”

“And the watch?” Bernadetta said, mentally partitioning her forces.

“They do peace-keepin’ drills and train on their own. Warning shots, spear walls, that sorta deal. They’ll do ya proud wherever you put ‘em.”

“I-I don’t doubt it, Bennet.” Bernadetta coughed. This was no time for stuttering. “And have any of them, militia or watch, actually had to defend the walls before?”

“Eh… no, likely not. We had to once, but that was a long time ago. I reckon no-one but me ‘n my dear older brother even remembers.”

“You have a brother?”

“You didn’t know? You didn’t think Danton ‘n I just happened to look alike, did ya?”

“Of course not!” Bernadetta laughed nervously. She had. She had thought that. “I know a lot of people around here make a living by forage. Do you know who the hunters are? The ones who use their bows every day?”

Bennet scratched his head. “Huh. I can think of a few. There’s the Macons with the southfielders, then there’s Tarisa and her Pa – that’s them right there. And some of the Sybile siblings, the ones that aren’t layabouts. I know they’re always hunting. Yeah, there’s more, too. I can find ‘em if you’d like?”

Bernadetta nodded. “Good. Yes, that’d be fantastic. Thanks so much, Bennet. After breakfast, please get them up to the tower above the gatehouse. You’ll be in charge of the tower. Understood?”

“Yes, commander,” Bennet said, still scratching his head. “But, er, I’m not really what you’d call the best shot. Not that I can’t use a bow or anythin’.”

“Don’t worry about it, Bennet,” Bernadetta said, surprised that she was the one assuaging someone else’s doubts. “That isn’t really why I want you up there.” Bernadetta’s voice didn’t carry nearly as far as she knew Bennet’s did. And if everyone else heard Bennet relaying her orders? Well, she knew _she’d_ trust whatever he was bellowing.

Bernadetta moved to the northern stretch of wall, carefully avoiding the line of folks getting a free, if bland, breakfast. Her small officer core followed. Siege engagements had settings. She had to learn hers.

“Bennet. The wall’s old, right? Has anyone touched it since Donnel’s time?”

“Sure, but not recently. We keep it maintained, but last renovations were during the first Almyran invasions. It’s got yer normal trappings; battlement’s about two-abreast along the merlons, half that through the crenels, an’ plenty of room for quiver racks and resin pots. Not that we have any resin, nor has anyone here ever lit or fired a flaming arrow.”

Bernadetta leaned over the battlements, looking down. The stone looked old, sturdy, and hardly challenged. Any scars from early battles were worn smooth by the wind and weather. “No machicolations?”

“Nothin’ that fancy, commander. Sorry. We had wooden hoarding during the war, but we took it down soon as peace struck. Now, most we can do is topple rocks over the edge.”

“And what about the gatehouse? I didn’t see any murder holes.”

“Aye, and we’ve only one portcullis. Original gate was a grand, iron beast, but it liked to hinge easy with a bit o’ rammin’. No sally ports, either. Really, all the wall’s got is size.”

Bernadetta bit her thumb, disappointed but not surprised. If anyone got close, all they could do was listen to them go by. Defensive designs had advanced since the Almyran invasions, but this was definitely no Fódlan’s Locket. She had to make do with what they had.

She cast her gaze up and out, at the field beyond the western wall. A field, a road, a copse of trees. Or was it two? No, the same one swung east towards the wall just south of the gate. Bernadetta looked, and estimated, and imagined the arrows that would soon be flying from their walls. She had their setting. Now, she had to match up her pieces. “Thompsen,” she called.

“Yes’m, commander?”

“Please line up your southfielders on the northern section of the wall.” It had the largest stretch of open land between the wall and the tree-line. “When I call for commands, you’ll be ‘north wall.’ Understood? Th-thanks. Erika?”

“Commander.”

“I’d like your townsfolk on the southern section.” The one closest to the near edge of the forest. “You’ll be ‘south wall.’ And Ria?”

“At your service, commander!”

“You and the watch will be in the gatehouse with me.” If she had any advanced commands, Bernadetta knew the guard would be most likely to understand. “When I call for ‘gatehouse,’ that’s us.”

“Guess that makes me ‘tower,’ eh, commander?”

“You know it, Bennet,” Bernadetta said, relaxing a bit more than she meant to. She knew she didn’t have to worry about him. He seemed to know his stuff. Just what did Bennet do before he was an innkeeper? “Let’s get the rack quivers filled along the wall. And everyone?” Bernadetta’s officers stood at attention. It felt odd, but not at all bad, to be trusted like that. The Professor would make a joke right about now, wouldn’t he? “Make sure you get some of that oatmeal. Heard it’s nice and bland today.” It broke an unspoken seal between them. Her officers laughed back, glad, and saluted.

==========

Bernadetta rubbed her hands together, cupping a breath of precious warm air. The sun was high enough that it wasn’t cold out. Still, she couldn’t get the shivers out of her fingertips. During the war, people had always talked about how the waiting was the worst part of battle. Bernadetta had no clue how anyone could think that way when a way more obvious part of battle was way, _way_ worse.

Actually battling was the worst part of battle.

The thought of it still made her hands shake. _Still_. Even now, so close to a fight, after having been through so many others. She rubbed her hands together more closely, trying to redirect the energy.

Around her was the town watch, the same apprehension shuddering through them all. A pitch-battle in defense of their homes surely wasn’t the same as catching petty criminals in the streets. Some of them absorbed those shudders better than others. Some even looked downright stoic.

The two nearest her were on opposite ends of the shuddering-stoic spectrum. Katarina stood perfectly at attention, glaring out of her arrow slit like her stare could challenge the light flooding in. Next to her, constantly adjusting his padded helm, was Roderick. Though he was technically with Erika’s townsfolk, he took part in bow drills with the watch every chance he got. That alone made him gatehouse material.

That, and Bernadetta didn’t want Bennet to worry about his son. If he was worried, she and everyone else would be, too.

She kept one eye on the field past the wall and another on Roderick. The death-grip he had on his bow, the way he kept picking at the string, the small I-don’t-know-what-to-do-with-my-feet shuffle he was constantly engaged in – all of it was very familiar. Way back when, it was the Professor who had helped her past it.

“Hey, Roderick,” Bernadetta whispered, beckoning him over with a nod.

“Y-yes, Lady Bernadetta? Sorry, I mean, uh, commander. Commander Bernadetta.”

“Either’s fine. I was just wondering: have you ever shot out of an arrow slit before?”

Roderick shook his head. Katarina peered over as well, allowing Bernadetta a closer glimpse. Her bow was still, but her grip was shaking. She was _way_ better at hiding it than Bernadetta ever was. She nodded her over as well, and Katarina fell in beside Roderick.

“Neither of us have a lot of experience with that, Lady Bernadetta,” Katarina said. Now that she was speaking, Bernadetta could hear the tell-tale quaver under her words.

“Wanna know the trick?” Bernadetta said, leveling her any-bow straight in front of her. “Line up your bowlimb with the window. Yeah, just like that, straight up and down. Now, imagine it’s strung to the ceiling and floor, and step around it to aim. Yeah, exactly! And just tip up and down on that same axis. See? Way easier than swinging your bow around that tiny window, huh?”

Roderick and Katarina played with the new technique for a few seconds, bumping into each other with a nervous laugh. “Y-yeah. Yeah! Definitely is. Thanks a bunch, Lady Bernadetta.” Roderick beamed.

“How’d you get to be a commander, anyway?” Katarina asked, relaxing her bow. Her grip was steadier. So was Roderick’s. Good. The Professor had used to distract Bernadetta with talk when she was like that, too.

“I, um, just kinda fell into it. Well, not really. I was trained for it. I was part of the last class at the Officer’s Academy.”

“Sure, but just learnin’ ‘bout something doesn’t make you good at it, ya know? Otherwise, I’d be a legendary knight,” Roderick said, finally fiddling his helm into a satisfying position.

“_That’s_ sure true. To be honest, I didn’t use to be much of a commander.” Bernadetta _still_ didn’t think she was much of a commander, but, in the name of prudence, she kept that to herself. “But I had to fight. A lot. The whole time I was at the academy, and all through the war.”

“You fought in the war, Lady Bernadetta?” The way Roderick looked at her was the same as when he talked about Donnel. Bernadetta grimaced a bit. The vast majority of the war hadn’t been at all heroic.

“Yeah. I was actually there when it started, if you can believe it.”

“You. You were at Garreg Mach, against the Immaculate One?” Katarina sounded like she couldn’t believe it, but looked like she did.

“Yeah…”

Bernadetta’s will to talk was quickly sapping. She didn’t like to think about that day. If she had been just a bit better, just a _bit_ more capable, then maybe…

Roderick seemed to pick up on it. He made an effort to temper his eagerness. “Do you, uh, d’you regret it?”

“Fighting in the war? Well, I wish I hadn’t had to. I wish _no-one_ did. But, it was because I did that I can do stuff like this. I-I can help.” Bernadetta blew out a steady breath of air, trying to refocus back into commander mode. She wasn’t useless anymore. She _could_ help.

Waiting was definitely not the worst part of battle. When Bernadetta heard the mass crackling of boots snapping and kicking their way through underbrush, the chaotic waving of branches and leaves betraying a presence in the trees on the far side of the road, she knew that the worst part of battle was about to come.

“Archers, at the ready!” Bernadetta called, adjusting her stance and her grip on her any-bow. She felt the entire wall shuffle around her, heard the relay officers repeating her command. It was like an echo of what she was doing and saying, bouncing through a hundred other hands and feet and voices.

The first rank broke through the foliage. Then another. Then another. Their armored plates shone with a dull gleam under the slightly-less-than-midday sun, large shields angling this way and that and sending rays of light dancing through the gatehouse. “Enemy spotted!” Bernadetta called, again hearing her own words echoing through tens of other voices. But they didn’t advance. They were marching into formation.

Wait. Plate armor? Shields? _Formations_? They were supposed to just be bandits! Bernadetta pulled back from the arrow slit, brows furrowed. There was something off about their armor, and about the way they were marching…

“Bernadetta.”

Bernadetta spun about, relieved. It was the Professor. Thank the Goddess.

“The enemy is massing on the far side of the road, just past the tree-line,” she reported. She really wanted to sweep him up in a great big hug and pull him all the way back to their room. But, there was time for that later. She still had to be a commander. For now.

The Professor peered out of the arrow slit, eyes wide open, darting back and forth. “Have you ever known bandits to take pre-battle formations?”

“_Definitely_ not. Something’s up. And their armor, isn’t it kinda strange?”

The Professor nodded. “Do you see on some of them? The rise in their armor where the chest is supposed to sit? We used to do that in Jeralt’s company. When we were on contract and couldn’t find a smithy, we’d rotate the weakened parts of our plate between battles.”

“So, those are… backplates?”

He nodded again. “Their equipment is in poor repair. But, the fact that they even have such heavy armor to begin with…”

“Yeah. Looks familiar, doesn’t it? Like Imperial fortress knights, or Kingdom great knights.”

“You’re right. It’s both, mixed and mottled. And it looks like they know how to wear it.”

Bernadetta’s heart sank. Their assessment was narrowing down on one type of foe, and it was one of the few that she really empathized with. “They’re deserters,” she said reluctantly. She, too, often thought of running away. In fact, she thought about it every battle. But something kept her from actually doing it, something those poor soldiers apparently didn’t have.

The Professor affirmed her suspicions with an indistinguishable noise. Bernadetta knew he was as disheartened about it as she was. After all, they might have fought alongside some of them during the war. He was sentimental like that.

“What do you make of how they’re marching?” he asked.

“Reminds me of when we had long double-times, when we were rushing to reinforce. Think they’re tired?”

“In a sense. Look at how they’re hunching or stretching.”

Bernadetta scrunched her brow. Then, her eyes grew in realization.

“Know how the watch got those scouts to talk?” The Professor leaned over the window. “They offered them breakfast. How long do you think it’s been since they’ve had a good meal?”

“Hey, yeah… I used to look like that when I skipped meals at the monastery! Helped me forget about my stomach.”

“I remember,” the Professor said with a small grin. “Hm. But there aren’t enough of them.”

Bernadetta peered out again, doing a quick headcount. “That’s barely one-to-one. I guess, even without a horse, a great knight’s probably worth a bit more than one, though, right?”

The Professor put a hand on his chin, head tilting slightly. “Keep an eye on the tree-lines,” he said, starting for the stairs. “And keep the gate open until I say.”

“You got it. A-and, um, Byleth?” Bernadetta blurted. Oh no. That wasn’t professional at all. “Be careful.”

The Professor stopped, sparing her a small smile. “I will. So you should, too, alright?” he placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. She smiled back. She _would_ be careful.

“That’s his name?” Bernadetta heard from Roderick once the Professor was safely out of earshot.

“I guess you’ve never heard it before, huh? Don’t know why, but not a lot of people use it.”

“That so? Well, must not be a lot like you, Lady Bernadetta.”

Bernadetta willed the blush from spreading to her cheeks. Definitely not professional.

“Scales!”

Bernadetta snapped back to her window, leaning out as far as she could. Someone out there had _lungs_. There, on the road, right where it forked east to the gate, was… something. Something large, on wheels, with an angled roof atop. She couldn’t see more past the mass of troops congregating about it, shields facing forwards and upwards and side-wards, glittering scales in a long, steel escort. The enemy had started lumbering down the road.

Every battle Bernadetta had seen always proceeded in one of two ways.

One: A neat, orderly tactical duel, lines clear-cut, combatants clashing honorably, orders and strategies playing out _just_ right.

Two: a mess.

Bernadetta gulped and gripped her bow tight. The latter was more common than the former.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my Bylie-bear, [Allekha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allekha), for reading and editing. Love you!


	5. Love, War, and Donnel's Gate (III)

Bernadetta raised her hand.

Whenever she asked a question, Bernadetta liked to pretend that it was just her and the Professor, chatting away like they always did. She liked to do that because she had to. Otherwise, like with most of the things she said, Bernadetta’s questions would fizzle on and on and she’d end up yammering and wasting everyone’s time.

“Yes, Bernadetta?”

“Why would you ever leave the town or castle during a siege battle? I-I mean, siege _engagement_. Wouldn’t it be better to just lock the doors and stay inside?”

“Good question, Bernadetta. There are some situations where it’s better to face the enemy past the walls.” The Professor placed his book face-down, walking out in front of his desk to speak more directly. “Can anyone here think of a good reason to sally?”

A small flurry of hands rose, and the Professor bounced his pointing finger between them as the students gave their answers.

“To be getting at enemies who are vul… vulnerable, or alone.”

“Yes, Petra.”

“To intercept a siege engine before it reaches the walls.”

“Good, Edelgard.”

“To gather information on the enemy’s motives, or otherwise force them to play their hand that you may counter it.”

“That’s correct, Hubert.”

“So you can quit waitin’ around for the fight to come to _you_!”

“Not… quite, Caspar. A sally can be a dangerous maneuver, and you don’t want to be doing it out of impatience. Remember what we discussed about feints last week? An easy way for a besieging force to whittle down the opposition is to bluff a sally from the defenders. Of course, going the other way, a sally could also act as a feint. But a feint is only as good as it is convincing. It is far easier for an attacking force, who have freedom and initiative, to keep up such an act.”

The Professor reached backwards and picked his book back up, flipping to another bookmarked page. The more attentive members of the class followed him. “Remember, the greatest dangers for a sally are over-commitment and over-extension.” The Professor left his book open, but spoke up and out to the class. “So, while cavalry is the instinctive choice, infantry can be the less haphazard one. The impact of an infantry attack relies less on extending _through_ an enemy’s formation, and, while slower, it is easier for an infantry sally to withdraw while _maintaining_ formation. Of course, the most important element to consider is the human element.”

Bernadetta looked down at the page she had obediently flipped along to. The Second Battle of Fódlan’s Throat. A classic tale of Almyran hubris and stubbornness. 

“Pride, honor, anger, fear, the rush of danger, and no small amount of competitiveness. In the heat of battle, soldiers and commanders alike are prone to being human. For that reason, once two lines meet, it can be impossible to disentangle them without one pulling the other. A sally force caught out like this requires tremendous discipline to save themselves.”

The Professor leaned back onto his desk. “Never forget. Every single soldier you fight with or against is a _person_.”

==========

Bernadetta cursed under her breath. When did they have the time to put together a _ram_? But, then again, why would they bother wheeling it forward if they saw that the gate was open to begin with? The enemy had all formed up around the escort, the entire column shielded on all sides from their arrows.

“Gatehouse! Nock!” Bernadetta yelled behind her, Ria dutifully repeating her command. She drew an arrow smoothly and lined up the notch to her string. If they didn’t start pressuring the advance, they’d never know what their ploy was.

“Aim!” Bernadetta drew her any-bow’s string, stepping until she knew she’d hit the head of the column. The volley wouldn’t do anything, but better to waste arrows than waste a chance at gathering information.

“_Fire!_” Bernadetta loosed the first arrow, and a cloud of its siblings trailed after it. The disappointing sound of arrowheads pattering ineffectively against metal filled the air. A voice, the same voice, from the head of the column bellowed out another order.

“North trees, archers at the gatehouse!”

Most of the watch ducked to the sides of their arrow-slits. Bernadetta leaned into hers. She saw them, cloaked figures, well-camouflaged against the leaves, rustling out of the foliage of the far tree-line. They held their bows sloppily, at an undisciplined cant, but their arrows flew high and true towards the gatehouse. Bernadetta rolled to one side, pressing herself against the wall. The same disappointing sound of ineffective arrowheads chiseled into the walls around them, a thousand angry guests knocking sharply for a few privileged entries. A few even made their unwelcomed hellos, bouncing into the gatehouse but catching none of the thankfully over-cautious guard. _Those_ were the bandits Bernadetta was accustomed to. But if they were only firing at the gatehouse…

They didn’t know who was on the walls.

“North wall!” Bernadetta hollered. The southfielders couldn’t hit well, but they didn’t have to. Enough arrows flying at _anyone_ and they’d be hard pressed to fire back. “Loose at will on the far tree-line!”

“Far afield, lads!” Bernadetta’s orders echoed through Thompsen’s colloquial filter. “Just like at the fair, show ‘em how many you can shoot!”

The twang of bowstrings outside the gatehouse began, first a whisper, then a jabber, then an uproarious crowd. As it rose, the chip of arrow-on-stone decreased, until Bernadetta felt confident enough to roll back in front of her arrow-slit. The bandit archers had, wisely, stepped back to the safety of the leaves and branches, leaving only a few crumpled, cloaked forms on the field. Their arrows still came, a trickle rather than a hail, but it was hardly anything Bernadetta would worry about.

Good. That was that, but that couldn’t have been all. The main column was still advancing, still pushing and hauling the ram along with them. What was the _point_? The gate was wide open!

“Bernadetta!”

It was the Professor. He was always so sharp, so clear. If he were yelling over a crowded tavern, Bernadetta was sure she could find him in no time. The second half of his order came quickly.

“Pressure their advance!”

“Gatehouse! Loose at will on the enemy on the road!”

Bernadetta began the well-versed motions of repeated fire at a target that didn’t matter. They certainly had arrows to waste. Maybe the Professor wanted to force another reaction?

The column continued its advance, shields tilting and shaking as they shook off their blows. A small trail of arrows and broken shafts formed behind and besides them as they moved. Soon, they were within a stone’s throw of the gate. The column stopped. A towering figure emerged from the shield-wall, garbed and armored the same as his troops, a wicked-looking double-axe held aloft in both arms despite the weighty shield strapped to one.

If _that_ wasn’t the enemy commander, Bernadetta had a lot of assumptions to revisit next time she was home.

“Ladders!” the figure bellowed, shrugging off their arrows like a brisk Wyvern Moon’s rain. Forget the shields, they couldn’t even get past their _armor_.

Wait. Had he said ladders?

Bernadetta saw the rear-most ranks pulling something out of the transport they were wheeling. She couldn’t see the rungs, but the long, paired lengths of wood sure did look like siege ladders. Bernadetta couldn’t believe it. There had never been a ram; it was only a siege hood. The militia couldn’t repel _great knights_ from the walls!

“Guard! Form ranks at the gate!”

Bernadetta heard the clatter of armor from within the town. The guard’s armor, and the Professor’s voice. She gulped, unwilling to see if what she thought was happening was happening. Then, the sound of heavy-set, ordered marching of metal bounced wildly around and out of the gateway, and the Professor’s dark-green hair peeked into sight just past the wall.

Bernadetta’s heart skipped a beat. If actually battling was the worst part of battle, watching the Professor on the front lines was the _worst_ worst part of battle. Thankfully, he wasn’t alone. Next to him was the still-cloaked Edelgard, her disguise wrapped tight about her armor with a haphazard series of ropes. On the other side of him, Caspar stood tall in his armor, axe at the ready and a bold lean in his step.

And, of course, Bernadetta was there. Not _there_ there, but there all the same. There was no _way_ she would let him get hurt.

But, if this was a sally, it was a hopelessly meager one. Well less than half the guard was there, forming three ranks abreast at the widest point of the gateway. Shields aloft, axes ready, clad head-to-toe in a smithy’s worth of plate, they made an impressive stopper, for sure. The enemy, however, was clad mostly the same as they were. And there were far, far, _far_ more of them.

“Ranks!” the enemy commander barked, the first line of the enemy column falling in behind him. Then another. Then another. They leaned out, shields forward, axes high. Both lines faced the other, motionless. It was like watching two wyverns coiling, holding the air around them hostage with stagnant tension.

Then, one side sprung.

“Charge!”

The armored ranks of the enemy lumbered forward, an awkward scramble that turned into a solid wall of rumbling metal. The Professor and the guard waited until the last couple of strides. They tensed up, leaned out. Then—

“Charge-by-rank!”

The first rank of the guard titled forward and ran headlong into the enemy. The rippling clash of heavy shields striking and sliding against each other combined into a resounding, thunderous clap, one that Bernadetta felt in the stones beneath her feet. The line of guards buckled. Then, the second rank, and the third, pushed out the first.

It worked. The waves of force arrested the momentum on both sides. Hopelessly mismatched, both lines were, nonetheless, at a standstill. It was the frustrating stalemate of two masses of armored combatants without support. Axes swung down and clanged off of shields, angled off of thick plate armor on both sides. In the crush of troops, the Professor looked hopelessly out of place. He added his weight to Edelgard’s shield, sword all but useless.

“South trees, bombard!”

From the near tree-line, robed and hooded figures slipped out amongst the branches. They lifted their arms high, luminous sigils appearing in front of them. Then, a small volley of flaming spheres rose. They were bright, like small suns steaming through the air in lazy arcs – steaming straight for the rear rank of guards, who had just enough time to raise shields and shout an all-too-late warning.

The spheres burst against the guards’ shields, flames blooming and coiling around them. The few hit directly dropped their shields immediately, struggling to strip their gauntlets as they reeled backwards. The line of guards buckled once more.

Bernadetta had hardly any time. She had to stop them before they could get off another spell. She dropped her any-bow, grabbing her longbow from the wall next to her. But before she could draw, before she could even think of a command, she felt it. She heard it, she _smelt_ it. The crinkle of electricity in the air, her hairs raising on end, the sting of ozone in her nostrils. Bernadetta looked up, wide-eyed, straight at Katarina. They both felt it, but only Bernadetta knew what it meant.

She shoved Katarina with her bow. But a step later, just one _stumble_ in the nick of time, and a terrifying flash of blue skewered through the arrow slit, through the back of the gatehouse, filling their ears with a blaring crack. Bernadetta tasted something on the air. It was her leathers; her shoulder pad was seared through. She snapped the straps off and tossed it to the ground with a hiss. There was a dull, thudding sensation in her shoulder. But she couldn’t think of that now.

Bernadetta leapt back before her arrow slit, a small circle of molten stone still glowing and dripping bright. She nocked and drew in one motion. She could still see it whenever she blinked; a glimpse of the beam, bright against her vision, tracing from her window to the tree-line.

There. A robed man, deeper in the thicket than the others, the glow of a spell sigil fading before him. She breathed out, steadied her aim. Branches, a tree trunk, the swaying leaves about him. There was a lot that could stop Bernadetta’s arrow short. She waited, just a moment, for the winds to still, for the path she imagined for her arrow to become clear. Then she loosed. Automatically, like drawing a needle through thread, like stroking a brush across canvas, she nocked and drew and loosed another arrow on the same path. Sometimes, it was good to have a crest.

The first arrow sent him tumbling backwards against a tree. The second, spinning back further into the ground.

Bernadetta felt the small, guilty burst of excitement from downing an enemy with a hard-to-land shot. Then the rest of her feelings caught up to her. She cried out. Since when did her shoulder _hurt_ so much?

Clutching her arm, she rolled back against the wall. “South wall!” she called, straining to keep the pain from her voice. The mages didn’t need to be hit hard, they just needed to be hit. “Fire at the near tree-line! Stop those _mages_!”

“Townies, near tree-line!” Erika yelled, for once some volume in her voice. “Twenty gold says I can hit them before you can even nock!”

Bernadetta heard the rustle of arrow points ripping through leaves, cries issuing from the underbrush. There was one more order she needed to get out. “Tower!” This time, the pain was obvious. It didn’t matter, they needed to know what to do. “Mages, deeper in the south thickets!”

“Hear that, lads ‘n lasses?” Bennet boomed from above. “There’s wolves in them trees. Let’s blunt their fangs!”

Bernadetta laughed, leaning heavy against the wall. Goddess _bless_ Bennet for understanding. She heard the clatter of a bow hitting the ground, then Katarina was before her. “Lady Bernadetta! You – you’re shoulder, it’s—”

“Yeah,” Bernadetta hissed through her teeth. “Say, have you seen my friend? Dorothea?”

“Right here, Bern!” Like the Saint parting the masses in Enbarr, Dorothea wove through the gatehouse to Bernadetta. Roderick was trailing close behind. “Show me.”

Bernadetta turned her shoulder outwards, gritting her teeth as a breeze from the arrow slit brushed over it. Dorothea stuck her hands out, a sigil tracing itself in front of her. Then, a warm glow. It felt good. Bernadetta let her head fall back against the stones, relieved. “Thanks, Dorothea. You really _are_ my best commoner friend. How’d you know to come up here?”

“Rod here got me as soon as he saw you get hit.”

“I-I’m sorry for running, Lady Bernadetta! But, you were hurt, and—”

“Hey, Rod! It’s alright, alright?” Katarina said, grabbing both of his shoulders. “You did good.”

Bernadetta nodded. “You _definitely_ did good. Now c’mon, the sooner we win this battle, the sooner we can all go home.” She hauled her bow back up. All three of them re-took their positions overlooking the battlefield.

The sally, which had barely gotten out of the gateway, was being crushed back into it. Worse still, the lines were already tightly mixed in the melee. The Professor raised his sword above it all, then swung it backwards.

“Withdraw-by-rank!”

The rear rank of guards, still struggling with their overheated armor, stumbled backwards, disappearing into the gateway. The second and first pushed their shields out with a mighty heave, parting the lines for just a moment. In that moment, the second rank filed away, escaping much like the last. The final rank drew together into the gateway, contracting like a tightly clenched fist.

At the end of that fist were three obstinate knuckles: the Professor, Edelgard, and a wildly roaring Caspar. _So_ wildly roaring that it gave the enemy another precious moment of pause.

A moment enough for Bernadetta and the watch to nock and draw. “Gatehouse, halt their charge!”

The enemy hesitated and raised their shields instinctively, a hastily aimed snap of arrows deflecting against them uselessly. Another stolen moment, and it was the last one the guard needed to withdraw. Some of the more intrepid deserters, including their commander, broke into a sprint after them. Edelgard and Caspar swung their axes about in a wide circle, grips at the very ends of their hafts, making the enemy vanguard consider a more cautious approach. Both ended their whirling shield by striking their axes into the ground, width-ways across the gateway, hafts crossed into a makeshift fence. Finally, Bernadetta saw them pass through. They left their weapons stuck in the ground.

The enemy commander knocked their axes aside with a sweeping blow from the flat of his own. He glared up at the portcullis, eyes darting back and forth. Just like the Professor. Finally, a satisfied smirk crossed his features.

“It _worked_! Gate’s wide open! We beat them once, we’ll beat them again!” The enemy cheered, some laughing, some hollering, all of them sounding incredibly relieved. It made Bernadetta’s heart soar a moment, before remembering that they were fighting each other.

As they all crammed into the gateway to rush headlong into town, the rearmost ranks dropped their ladders. Their ladders without rungs. Ladders without rungs, which weren’t at all connected, and which were actually just pairs of long tent poles. Bernadetta couldn’t believe it. _Again_. They had bluffed half a siege’s worth of equipment, and it had worked!

“Tower, gatehouse! To the interior!” Bernadetta yelled. She pushed off the wall and rushed to the town-facing side of the gatehouse, the rest of the watch stampeding after her. Surrounding the market yard, interspersed with barricades of piled-up carts, merchant stalls, crates, and barrels, was Captain Danton’s concave. They formed a one-rank wall of Edelgard’s guard, shields up, stalwart as ever, with the watch and militia piled up behind them, weapons braced between their shields, their weight leaning forward to support the front.

The sally force had melded into the rest of the guard, Edelgard joining them and reorganizing the shield wall. The Professor was still in the center of the yard with Caspar. He grabbed Caspar by the shoulder, pointing at one of the side alleys and saying something hushed. Caspar barked a “you got it!” and ran off, pulling some of the militia with him. Satisfied, the Professor started towards the safety of the barricades. Bernadetta urged the panic from her chest. Shouldn’t they close the gate? Why wasn’t he giving the order?

But it was too late. The enemy, cramming in and through the gateway, burst out and spilled all across the market yard. They ran haphazardly, formations forgotten, and went headlong into the shield-walls around them. Headlong, pinpoint pricks of speed and force, rammed into a solid mass of armor and weight that barely budged before them. Their commander, axe raised high, rushed straight for the Professor.

“_Byleth_!” Bernadetta cried, decorum, rank, and formal address forgotten. He spun about at her voice, just in time to hop awkwardly backwards. Inches from disaster. The enemy commander’s axe cut the air with a heavy hum, whorls of air eddying outwards and ruffling the Professor’s hair and coat.

The commander, large as he was, was now fully blocking Bernadetta’s view of the Professor. But, she could still hear the tell-tale sounds of his swordplay as he began to fight back. The whoosh of his feints, the scrape of blade-on-armor, the rhythmic patter of his favorite step-and-strike patterns.

And it worked, for the first stint of their spar; his style had always been keen and unexpected. But with every hefty swing of the commander’s axe that the Professor deftly dodged and countered, his step got just the slightest bit slower, his reactions lagging grain by grain. It didn’t help that his sword was about as effective as open-palm slapping the commander’s heavy plates. It also didn’t help that, for all this time spent struggling, the Professor was getting no closer to friendly lines and no farther from the enemy’s.

Bernadetta prepared a shot. She had to help him get away. She wasn’t useless. She _could_ help. All this time spent watching, she was watching the commander’s moves; heavy step left, big swing right, both feet planting before a horizontal sweep – there! The left-most edge of his boots. Padding was spilling out near the heel. Their equipment really _was_ in poor repair. Bernadetta breathed out, steadying her aim, imagining the path her arrow would take. Heavy step left. Big swing right. Both his feet were planted – now was her chance!

She loosed, the arrow flying just as she pictured. Before his swing could even start, it pierced the base of his heel, sending him tumbling to one knee. To his credit, he didn’t make a sound. This one was no stranger to injury. The Professor kicked a bit of dirt up into his eyes – mercenary fighting styles weren’t exactly the most honorable – then turned and sprinted for the center of the concave. Where Edelgard was standing, right in front of The Gatehouse.

The Professor ran straight into Edelgard, using her like a post to turn his momentum about-face. She caught him and helped, supporting his back and keeping him upright. Bernadetta saw his eyes shoot to the gateway. She looked down. No-one else was rushing through; the entire enemy heavy infantry force was now sitting in their front parlor. Finally, the order came.

“Close the gate!”

The Professor yelled it first, then every relay officer, then every militia and watch and townsfolk who’d ever frequented the tavern. Bernadetta ran to the portcullis winch. Wait. Did she ever ask if they’d fixed it? She kicked the release lever, the shock of it shuddering up through her leg. She knew that was going to be sore in the morning. The lever flew loose; any moment now the portcullis would come crashing down.

But it didn’t. Bernadetta cursed loudly. She could_ not_ believe her misfortune. Why did bad things always happen to _her_? Exasperated and in a fit of frustration, Bernadetta jumped and sent both of her legs crashing into the winch grips themselves. She toppled to the ground and felt a sharp sting in her shoulder, but it worked. The winch began to spin free, and the portcullis slammed shut with a muffled clang. But Bernadetta was confused, and not just because of the impact of the stone ringing through her head.

“What?!”

Bernadetta righted herself with the help of two dumbstruck watch members, who couldn’t believe she had thrown herself around like a fish instead of asking for help. She leaned into the nearest arrow slit. In the center of the yard, the enemy commander was staring, just as dumbstruck as the watch members next to her, at the now-closed gate. Bernadetta stared out. Her eyes widened, lectures from a lifetime ago flitting through her head.

_Of course, a sally could also act as a feint. But a feint is only as good as it is convincing._

_Once two lines meet, it can be impossible to disentangle them without one pulling the other._

“Guard, push the lines!”

In the same maneuver as their withdrawal, the line of guards heaved their shields forward, the watch and militia behind them pushing as well. The disorganized attackers stumbled backwards. Unsure, they didn’t charge again.

_Focused attacks are more prudent for the attacker when they have less information on the defensive force’s strength. _

_The _last_ thing a besieging force wants to do is attack their way into a surprise._

“Hanneman, Hubert! Drive them back!”

Two of the upper windows of The Gatehouse suddenly burst open. With twin streaks of bright and dark, Hanneman and Hubert’s spells blasted into the ground between the lines. Surprised, the enemy, spread out and still reeling, crouched behind their shields and drew back even further.

_Pride, honor, anger, fear, the rush of danger, and no small amount of competitiveness._

_In the heat of battle, soldiers and commanders alike are prone to being human._

“Bernadetta! Drive them forward!”

“Gatehouse! Warning shots at the rear!” Bernadetta yelled. The watch began loosing a curtain of arrows, one that slowly swept out from the gate towards the center. The enemy in the yard were driven before it. Those too slow were picked up by their comrades, pulling and supporting each other to safety. Once they couldn’t go any further, Bernadetta waved her hands for a cease. She clacked her tongue, more torn now than ever. They were fighting the worst kind of foe. The kind that cared for one another.

“Scales! Dragon scales!”

The enemy commander rallied his troops towards him. Their shields went up, a glittering wall, but their grip was unsteady, shaky. They had advanced the entire length of the road like that, pelted relentlessly by arrows. How much longer could they keep it up?

_Remember that each and every soldier _became_ a soldier somehow._

“Caspar! Roll it in!”

From the alley Caspar had run off to, a cart, packed tight with hay, rolled forward. The militia next to it pushed it with all their might, and it trundle towards the center of the yard. On top of the cart were three terrifying sights: two blaze barrels, painted red with short wicks, and Caspar, torch in one hand, his head nursed in the other, and a defiant grin _daring_ anyone to make a move. The scaled formation in the center of the yard shuffled as best it could away from the cart. Of course. They knew a gambit when they saw one.

_An attacking force could be desperate for supplies or safe harbor._

_Never forget. Every single soldier you fight with or against is a_ person.

“Manuela! Now!”

All of the windows of The Gatehouse were flung open by townsfolk on every floor, each of them flapping oversized bedsheets from within. Bernadetta quickly caught the scent of something delicious on the air. It was last night’s chicken pot pie. No, this morning’s sugary oatmeal. No, it was a hundred different dishes, each and all of them weaving together the promise of a feast in the noon-tide breeze. Bernadetta saw the shields waver further. A strong enough breeze and they might all come toppling down.

Then, from the tavern, Manuela came running, a dangerous bundle cradled in her arms. She threw it upwards, out and over the guard. In the gleam of the sun, everyone caught a glimpse. Aymr. The legendary axe, now careening through air, straight at a cloaked figure dead-center in the concave.

Edelgard’s armored gauntlet shot up and caught the relic. In a single motion, she cast off her cloak and swung her new weapon down with terrifying effect. There was a thunderous boom; the earth cracked before her. All eyes were on her now. Her armor, her weapon, her bearing – even her hair. It was undeniable. She was Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg, sovereign ruler of Fódlan under the auspices of the Adrestian Empire. The echoes of her weapon blended seamlessly into her first words. It was captivating – daunting – and not the least bit awe-inspiring.

“Soldiers of Fódlan! I am your _Emperor_, Edelgard von Hresvelg! You have fought, and you have bled, and you have killed, and you have _died_, in the name a new dawn, free of tyranny, to grace the lands of your forebears. That war is _over_, no matter on which side you fought. It has taken, from each of us, much that cannot be replaced. You are brave. You have shown you have the will – the tenacity – to survive. To give all and _more_ for you and your comrades. And yet, you would take from those who have suffered from that _terrible_ conflict just as much as you yourselves! Soldiers of Fódlan! Lay _down_ your arms! Let no more blood be spilt in the name of that _tragedy_. Let reign the peace we have all fought so hard to attain. Retain your honor, lay down your arms! We shall treat you as prisoners of war. You shall be fed, clothed, and allowed, finally, to rest. The choice is yours, my brothers, my sisters. _Reject_ your honor, raise your arms on the innocent? We shall treat you as enemies of our hard-won peace. I offer you this. _Only. Once_. Accept, and be _saved_.”

Edelgard’s words echoed in the still market yard, echoed in each of them long after they faded from their ears. Not just the enemy, but the watch, and the militia. Nobody dared to make a move.

Nobody but the enemy commander, who strode forward, tall, still menacing. Axe still aloft, shield still raised high, steps still steady despite the arrow lodged in his heel. But, he looked tired. They _all_ looked tired.

He glanced back at his troops, and Bernadetta saw a familiar look in him. It was the same look that she would often spot in the Professor at the end a hard-won battle. Trust, regret, a tinge of sorrow, no small amount of pride, and a cascade of relief. He balanced his axe haft-first on the ground, then pushed it forward and let it topple. His shield went next, and then his helmet. Then he turned to Edelgard.

“Your Majesty. I trust you will treat them well. I… _we_ surrender.”

The troops behind him followed their commander’s lead. Axes, shields, helms, gauntlets – everything weighing them down was cast off. And, underneath it all, Bernadetta saw them. The same people she might have marched with to a hundred battles, shared camp with and fought with and struggled with through the war. They looked haggard and hungry, like refugees more than soldiers. And, like their commander, each and every one of them looked relieved.

The guard and the town watch approached the self-disarmed enemy, their own weapons tastefully lowered, and rounded them up. They shuffled off to the back of the tavern, leaving the market yard in an odd way. Those still formed up were now facing nothing but a large pile of axes and heavy plate. It was Bennet’s booming voice, from the top of the tower, that, finally, brought them out of the battle.

“Right, well, that’s it then, is it? Say it loud, folks, you finally get to do it! The gate has held! The gate has held!”

All around Bernadetta, the cheer went up. It was deafening, the fear and pressure of the battle melting out of their lungs, leaving nothing but elation to fuel their cries. “The gate has held! The gate has held!”

Reverberating through the gatehouse and in and out of the arrow slits, cascading off the walls and off of every alley and building, a cry from the first battle Donnel ever fought for his gate. A cry few townsfolk had _ever_ used outside of jest. “The gate has held! The gate has held!”

Bernadetta chuckled to herself, joining in as well. They had _technically_ gotten in through the gate. But, she didn’t want to spoil their fun. “The gate has held! The gate has held!” she chanted alongside her once-subordinates. The battle was over. She was _done_ being a commander.

She found herself pulled into an unexpected hug. It was Katarina and Dorothea, with Roderick already in their grasp. The four laughed and joined their voices with the town around them. It was over. It was _finally_ over!

“The gate has held! The gate has held!”

==========

Bernadetta pushed her way through the raucous crowds filling the tavern to the brim. The tavern was fun, now that she knew how to enjoy it. But what was even _more_ fun? Some room to _breathe_. She passed by a dozen dozen conversations of people regaling each other with tales of what had just happened. Watch and militia, guard and townsfolk, even some of the prisoners, gladly drinking and feasting.

She stumbled into a small circle of Caspar, his watch and guard friends, and Bennet, all guffawing and talking as loud as they possibly could.

“And, and you’ll never – hey, that’s _my_ ale! – you’ll never _guess_ what was in those barrels. Go on, try to guess!” Caspar swung his tankard around the circle, daring guesses out of anyone. “Blaze? No way, we couldn’t find _half_ enough oil! Wha- did you say – ha-ho, _yeah_! It was _ale_! I didn’t even have a _weapon_ out there! Just a torch, some ale, and a mean look! Hoo, well, that’s the Bergliez charm, eh?”

Amongst the burst of laughter, Bennet waved his hands for some room to talk. “Wait wait wait, wait, hold on. _You’re_ tellin’ me, that you’re a Bergliez? You’re tellin’ me I _slammed_ a member of house Bergliez into my inn-room floor?”

“Yeah, you sure did. Round two’s waitin’, by the way. Why, what’s wrong with that?”

“Donnel’s Gate is on Bergliez land!”

The circle burst out with a “woah!”, and Bennet looked just a teensy bit nervous. Caspar calmed them down with some hand waving of his own.

“Alright, alright. Listen, that doesn’t matter. I’m just a second son, I couldn’t care _less_ about what happens to me. But hey, if you wanna press the matter, take it to my older brother. Then _he_ can tell you that he doesn’t care, either!”

Everyone burst out laughing again, any worry vanishing from Bennet’s face. Bernadetta slipped out of the circle, giddy at the exchange, but found herself drawn back into another circle.

“Lady Bernadetta!” Katarina called, grabbing her around the shoulder and pulling her into their huddle. Dorothea and Roderick were there as well, and all their faces were suddenly very close. Normally, Bernadetta would scream and run from situations like these. But it was hard not to humor someone she had just risked her life with. “I was just telling Rod how _grateful_ I was. You saved my life out there. My _life_! If all nobles were like you, we wouldn’t’ve needed that war.”

Dorothea laughed, bumping her head against Katarina’s. “That’s sure true. She’s one of the good ones. In fact, she’s one of the best, _greatest_ ones!”

“Oh, you two. That’s not true. There’re _way_ better nobles than me. Besides, there was no way I was gonna let you get hit like that, Kat. Oh, s-sorry, that’s—”

“Hey, it’s alright! It’s like I told you: only my friends call me that.” Katarina smiled warmly at Bernadetta, bumping their heads together. “Rod here’s all quiet now, but he would _not_ stop going on about how that was just like in the old tales.”

“It was! Oh, it was _just_ like them. You were _amazing_ out there, Lady Bernadetta! So was Caspar, and the Traveler, and – and the _Emperor_ was there! Can you believe it? We fought alongside the Emperor, Kat!” Roderick bumped his head into Katarina’s, and they shared a giddy laugh. “And, with Uncle Danton? And my pa? It was like Donnel himself was there, too.”

“What do you mean by that, Roderick?” Bernadetta asked, craning her neck away to get a better look at him. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Bennet’s amazing. But—”

“_No_. Don’t tell me he didn’t tell you, Lady Bernadetta?” Katarina pulled a now-blushing Roderick even closer to the three of them. “Bennet, Danton, and Rod here are the last descendants of Donnel the Lionheart!”

“Oh!” Bernadetta and Dorothea exclaimed at once. “That explains a lot,” Bernadetta said. “But I heard this was Bergliez land?”

“Y-yeah, Lady Bernadetta. Donnel was of house Bergliez. Well, a branch, but they stopped bearing crests. So, the main branch took Donnel’s Gates, and Donnel’s descendants have been knights here ever since. ‘cept my pa.”

“Well, what happened with your pa, Rod?” Dorothea asked, always eager to pry.

“He _was_ a knight an’ all, fought for the Empire all his life. Then, he got called away for somethin’. Some rebellion? That business with House Hrym, right around when I was born. Hasn’t picked up a blade since. Well, not since today, and I _guess_ he technically only had a bow.”

“So he’s related to Caspar?” Dorothea smirked, rolling her eyes. “That _does_ explain a lot.”

Bernadetta giggled, bumping heads with everyone one last time. “I’m sure Donnel would be happy that _you’re_ here, Roderick.”

She ducked out of the circle, dodging Roderick’s stuttering non-response and Dorothea and Katarina’s gleeful laughter. She was so close to the door now. Just a few more tables, a few more circles of conversation, and—

“Commander Bernadetta!”

Bernadetta sighed, but turned around. It was her officer core, minus Bennet, at a table with some of the watch and militia. They all gave her a small salute. She waved them off, but saluted anyway. “H-hey, there’s no need for that! I’m not your commander anymore. Now I’m, um, just Bernadetta.”

“Well _jus_’ Bernadetta,” Thompsen said, “there weren’t a finer commander for us up on them walls. You ever come back through here, th’ southfielders’ll always have yer back!”

“Indeed, just Bernadetta,” Erika said. Was she actually smiling? “I’d bet on you any day of the week. Any of the townsfolk would say the same.”

“It was the watch’s great pleasure to serve with you, just Bernadetta!” Ria said boisterously, raising her tankard to the center. “To you and yours, and to your health! May your gates always hold strong!” The others at the table joined her in their cheer. Bernadetta, blushing, thanked them profusely, fussing her hands together and slipping away. It was hard being emotionally overstimulated while surrounded by so many semi-strangers.

Finally, Bernadetta reached the door. She opened it a _bit_ too enthusiastically. “Close the gate!” roared the tavern. Bernadetta gladly slammed the door shut behind her.

She took in a gulp of cool, night air. In, and then out. In, out. Just breathing, just a breath of air, was so refreshing without any of the sounds or scents of battle upon it. She closed her eyes and relished in it. Only one thing could make things better.

Her ears perked up. She heard a voice. A familiar, tired, gentle voice. Bernadetta smiled. She skipped around the tavern, into one of the alleys, to a small stack of crates and barrels. There, relaxing on a barrel with a crate at his back, was the Professor. But he wasn’t alone. Edelgard was with him, sitting astride a barrel of her own. She even made barrel-sitting look dignified.

“Bernadetta. Will you not join us?”

Bernadetta let out a small shriek. When had Edelgard noticed her?

“U-um, yeah. Sure thing, Edelgard! Sorry if I’m intruding.”

“Intruding?” Edelgard asked, a mix of surprise and bemusement in her voice. “He is _your_ husband, is he not?”

Bernadetta laughed, relaxing again. “He sure is.” Bernadetta perched atop a third barrel, right next to the Professor. She allowed herself to tilt over and slouch against the Professor, glad for his warmth.

“You did great today, Bernie,” the Professor said, scratching the crown of her head idly. She hummed and leaned into his touch. “Is your shoulder alright?”

“Hm? Yeah, Manuela touched it up after. Don’t worry. I’ve had worse. I can’t believe you got them all to surrender. You really are amazing, Bylie, Edelgard.”

“I thank you, Bernadetta,” Edelgard said, shifting a bit forward to talk to the both of them more easily. “But, aside from a bit of fighting, the only role I played was to be the Emperor when I had to be. _You_ commanded the entire wall, no small feat in a defensive siege engagement. You lured their archers out of hiding, you struck their mages down after just _one_ spell. Not to mention the precious time you bought us during our withdrawal, and the warning shots that herded our foes towards the center of the yard. Truly, we could not have reached the outcome we did were it not for your leadership, Bernadetta.”

Just like that, Bernadetta was emotionally overstimulated again. She shoved her face into the Professor’s sleeve. “Thanks, Edelgard,” she muffled. “That’s real kind of you.”

Edelgard gave a confused smile to the Professor, who wordlessly assured her that that was a positive Bernadetta reaction. “We were just talking about their commander,” the Professor said, letting Bernadetta sort herself out. “Turns out he’s from Duscur, of all places.”

Bernadetta turned her face outwards slightly, intrigued. “Duscur? So, did he desert from Faerghus?”

“He has been… tactically vague about that detail,” Edelgard said, hand going to her hip. “He likely believes his treatment will differ based on whether he fought for or against the Empire. What we _do_ know is that he was an Arianrhod. And, not just for the siege. He was there when the Javelins of Light vaporized the unconquerable fortress. According to him, he and his troops did not see the point of fighting a war where entire cities could disappear in a matter of minutes. It seems there were soldiers on _both_ sides of the war that thought the same as he, and banded together.”

“That makes sense,” Bernadetta said. If all her friends had decided the war was pointless and all quit the army together, she was sure she would have followed them. Did that make her a traitor?

“One thing is clear,” Edelgard continued, considering the boxes across from her. “He is an excellent commander. His tactics are clever and bold, yet he does not easily abandon caution. Two bluffs, _just_ to ensure his sabotage worked. It was his bad fortune that he faced the Professor this day. On top of that, his troops love him. He leads from the front, had the wherewithal to avoid capture for over half a year, and… his condition. He was as hungry as they were. He does not go with while his soldiers go without. _That_ is why they were willing to assault a fortified town on an empty stomach with shoddy equipment.”

Edelgard sounded impressed. When she put it that way, Bernadetta was impressed, too.

“Such a man could be a great asset to the Empire,” Edelgard said, cupping her chin with her other hand. “But, of course, the law must be suitably dispensed. He and his troops will be escorted by the garrison to Enbarr. There, justice will be served. In whatever form that may take.”

The Professor sighed. A bland sound, but his sighs always had little tells. When he lead with a huff, pushing most of the air out in the first moments of the sigh, it was usually because he was troubled about something. Both Edelgard and Bernadetta picked up on it.

“Worry not, my teacher,” Edelgard said, giving him a reassuring smile. “They shall be treated fairly. Fed, clothed, and allowed to rest, as was my promise. And, unlike the cutpurse archers and mercenary mages who fled the battle, the ones who surrendered were true soldiers. It is not without precedent for us to treat them with _some_ leniency. Is that not so, Professor?”

The Professor nodded. He seemed at ease, and him at ease put Bernadetta at ease.

A chant started seeping through the walls of the inn. One that drew color to Edelgard’s cheeks, and a bemused smile to the Professor.

“E-del-gard! E-del-gard!”

“Ugh,” Edelgard said, placing a hand on her forehead. “I suppose enough drink will make anyone forget that I am their _Emperor_.”

“What are the odds Caspar’s behind this?” the Professor said, still smirking. “I’d take it as a compliment. It means they’ve _really_ welcomed you as a guest in their own homes.”

“Is that a joke?” Edelgard said, tone unamused, but smile betraying her. “Very well. I suppose I should make an appearance, lest they think I am trying to deceive them again.”

Edelgard slid off of her barrel, clearing her throat and striding confidently down the alley. She spared a glance backwards at the Professor, leaning tiredly against his crate, and at Bernadetta, leaning tiredly against the Professor. Her smile returned, assured of her choice.

Now that they were by themselves, Bernadetta could feel the Professor slump. He sighed again. That same sigh. Something was still bothering him. She was always bad at trying to talk about things that mattered. Instead, she slipped her hand over his. Things unspoken mattered, too.

“This was a text-book siege engagement,” the Professor began, bidden by Bernadetta’s gesture. “Superior position, superior information. We had an _overwhelming_ ranged advantage. Their archers and their mages were suppressed as soon as they showed themselves. The enemy commander’s bluffs were good, but they would have unraveled as soon as they drew near. If I’d placed our mages on the walls, we could have bombarded them for their entire approach. They didn’t know about the Emperor’s guard. What if I had kept them mounted? The shock of the knights’ charge could have routed them, especially after such a costly advance.”

The Professors eyes were darting back and forth, still searching the possibilities. But what was the point? The battle was over. Bernadetta tightened her grip on the Professor’s hand. She had to listen all the way through.

“Instead, I did something so _reckless_. I put Caspar’s, and Edelgard’s, and yours and my own life on the line. Countless guard and watch and militia, too. I can’t be taking chances like that anymore. I… there’s no going back if I make a mistake.”

Bernadetta tilted her head and looked up at him. No going back? “Since when was there ever?”

He looked down at her with an unreadable expression. Bernadetta was surprised; it had been a long time since she’d seen one of those. It was just like before they were together. She had to puzzle it out, then it wouldn’t be unreadable.

“Byleth, you did _amazing_ today. Can’t you hear that tavern? You fought for everyone. For _everyone_. Not just the townsfolk and their homes, but those poor, lost soldiers out there, for their futures. And no-one was lost, on either side! No-one but those archers and mages, that is. I can’t think of a _single_ other person who can turn something around like that; someone who can snatch a victory, for _both_ sides of a battle, from the jaws of such a hopeless slaughter.”

Bernadetta took his face in both her hands, looking straight into his eyes, making him look into hers. He was blaming himself. But for what? This wasn’t Remire. They had won today. “Because that’s what it would have been if _you_ weren’t here, Byleth. Hopeless. A slaughter. An empty tavern.” The sounds of the festivities, blunted through the walls, nevertheless danced around them, joyous, happy. What would the Professor do right now? If it was her that needed him? If it was her this distraught? Bernadetta touched her nose to his. She grinned widely. Her smile spread to him.

“You know we follow you because we believe in you,” Bernadetta continued, brushing his cheek with her thumb. “And believe you me, you do _not_ disappoint. But I, um… well, I won’t pretend to know everything that’s going on in that big brain of yours. Just know – _please_ know – that whenever you want to tell me, I’ll be here. For you.”

Bernadetta figured it out. That look – the tilt of his eyebrows, the purse of his lips, the unsure scrunch of his eyes – that was his I-don’t-know-how-to-tell-you-something look. She smiled, mentally shelving the image. The Professor was a puzzle she _never_ grew tired of solving.

“Thank you, Bernadetta. Maybe… maybe tonight. When it’s just us. Back in our room.”

Bernadetta’s grin cracked even wider. She closed the distances, letting their lips touch just so. She was more sure now. No, she _knew_. She could keep her walls safe, too.

==========

“Remember, the weaves of a battle cut not from the same bolt. It is the confluence of your preparations, your predictions, your field decision, and your people. With due courage, a clear mind, and the trust of those you lead, the battlefield can form a tapestry of unimaginable potential.” The Professor snapped his book shut, setting it back on top of his pile of notes. “But listen to me. I’m starting to sound like Ignatz.”

The class tittered playfully, including Ignatz, who ducked his head a bit. The other teachers didn’t tease their students so freely. He was one of them, after all. Everyone appreciated that.

The class began to file out of the classroom. Bernadetta usually liked to leave either first or very dead last. Today, Sylvain got the jump on leaving first. So, Bernadetta slunk into her corner, waiting to be last.

“Bernadetta?”

Bernadetta shrieked, covering her head with her doodle-book again. When she looked up and saw the Professor, she slapped the book face-down onto the table. He must _never_ be allowed to see what was there. “Y-yes, Professor?”

“Would you like to join me for tea? I know there’s some time before your next lecture, and I just got my hands on a blend I think you’d like.”

Bernadetta considered it, putting a finger to her lips. On the one hand, tea with the Professor was nice. On the other, so was hiding in her room as often as physically possible.

“Sorry, Professor. I’ve, um, got some stuff I need to catch up on.”

The Professor nodded with an unreadable expression. But that was what most of his expressions were. “Alright. I’ll see you next lecture. And try to get some sleep tonight, okay?”

After he left, Bernadetta sighed in relief. Finally, she was the last one in the classroom. She packed her things back into her bookbag: quills, ink, notebooks, slate, chalk, and all of her textbooks. As she picked up her bookbag, she puzzled over the look the Professor had given her.

He meant so much to so many people. Always willing to talk. Always there for everyone. He _was_ one of them, after all, the same age and everything, and everyone appreciated that. But if he was one of them, and he was there for everyone, then who did _he_ talk to? Who was there for him? Where did he turn when he felt vulnerable or sad?

Something clicked. The relief in her chest swapped to a pang of guilt. She remembered where she’d seen that look before.

It was right after Remire.

Bernadetta snatched her book bag and ran for the door. Thankfully, the Professor was still just outside the classroom.

“U-um, Professor! Hi! Sorry, I – well, maybe I have a _bit_ of time. For tea, I mean. If you still want to?”

They cleared out, and the classroom was left empty. Empty except for Bernadetta’s doodle-book. It lay open, jostled by her haste, to the last page Bernadetta ever wanted anyone to see.

There, occupying most of the page, was the Professor’s name, each letter in her own creative style. A constellation of little hearts played about the edges of the composition, with her own name timidly squeezed into a corner.

Of course, it was just a doodle. That was all it was. Just a pleasant, pointless dream.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my Bylie-bear, [Allekha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allekha), for reading and editing. Love you!


	6. Enbarr Days and Enbarr Nights (I)

Bernadetta had never received a hero’s farewell before.

Not that she hadn’t done things that were downright heroic before, like talking to strangers while on camp cooking duty or air-drying her laundry in the middle of the day when everyone could see and hear and speak to her. But, as she remembered it, during the war and during the academy, everyone _else_ had done the real heroic things. She had never felt that she did anything more than tag along and do what she was told.

This time, though, was different. Way different. The people they helped didn’t thank the church, or thank the Strike Force, or treat their actions with a war’s worth of indifference. As the convoy left, the people of Donnnel’s Gate called her out in the crowds and spoke to her directly. Bernadetta had never thought she’d be happy about _those_ things happening.

The warm feelings helped stave off the creeping chill in the air on the rest of their – thankfully – uneventful road to Enbarr. It gave Bernadetta time to catch up on some reading, watch the flocking Wyverns overhead, and cuddle up to the Professor – past-times which weren’t mutually exclusive.

After a leisurely couple of days of such, the convoy finally reached the first of their destinations: Enbarr, capitol of Fódlan under the auspices of the Adrestian Empire. It was a city that one saw long before it was in sight, in the tapestry of travelers quilting the roads in and out, in the increasingly decorated heraldry of the patrols, in the curving fields and soft vales giving way to lazy waterways, and in the importance by which even humble farmhouses and road-side inns rose as they drew closer to the capitol. In the land of ancient history, no place was more historic than Enbarr.

All of that history had fragmented out across Fódlan in the eleven-hundred and eighty-five years since Imperial year one. Due to the efforts of a certain Emperor, however, that history was now rushing straight back to Enbarr. With its resurgence of importance came many a thing. But, for Bernadetta-the-traveler and the-Professor-the-traveler, the most relevant of them was the line.

What line? An entire continent’s worth of travelers trying to flock into the seat of its unification. _That_ line.

Usually, when Bernadetta and the Professor came to Enbarr, they’d have to wait through the excruciating process of getting cleared by the city sentries to enter. Excruciating for the Professor because of the long wait when there was, usually, business to be done. Excruciating for Bernadetta because the sentries always insisted on talking to her.

This time, though, was different. Way different. As it turned out, being Emperor had many benefits. Continent-wide deference, custom-made personal relics, the best headdress this side of the Airmid; but, for Bernadetta-the-traveler and the-Professor-the-traveler, the most relevant of them was that Edelgard and her friends didn’t have to wait in line.

For once a spectator rather than a prisoner, Bernadetta got a rolling view of the line as their escort trundled by, a constantly shifting window that gave her a taste of how cosmopolitan Enbarr was becoming. Stretching far and out from the capitol’s imposing gates was a twined rope of folks from every walk of life, people who would never find themselves in each other’s company save when pulled taught together by the droll of bureaucracy: nobles and commoners, buyers and sellers, warriors and priests and performers and paupers.

Some wore the tell-tale furs of Faerghus make, hung loosely to breathe in the southern heat. Others, the pragmatic work-a-day garb deemed perfectly usable by those from the Alliance. Of course, there were those in familiar Imperial dress. But, the ones who really stood out to Bernadetta were the ones wearing things from… somewhere. The ones sporting headscarves and tattoos and piercings, the ones who were definitely from ‘out there’ rather than here. She tried not to stare, lest they stared back. But she found herself more than a bit fascinated.

And as they drove along the line and neared the gate, some were as fascinated with the Emperor’s escort. Some even got a glimpse of who was in the largest carriage of their escort. Some became many, and many became most, until the entire line was muttering and mumbling to itself.

“Is that the Emperor?”

“Her Majesty is here?”

“So, Edelgard von Hresvelg makes her appearance?”

The answer was, of course, yes. But while Bernadetta had enjoyed her hero’s farewell, she absolutely did _not_ fancy a celebrity’s welcome. The Professor picked up on her apprehension. He threw a series of gestures to Edelgard, who threw a series of gestures to the Imperial guard, who threw a series of gestures to each other and formed an armored curtain between the transports and the line.

And thus, though everyone in the Imperial capitol was destined to know that Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg had returned, thankfully few saw who she had returned with. When the convoy eked their way through the crowded main gates and the mutters and mumbles rose into excited rumbles, Bernadetta was doubly _triply_ thankful that all of those rumblers couldn’t see that she was there.

“_Edelgard_!” Bernadetta hissed across their carriages. “Is there a way we can, you know, _not_ be so, um, central?”

“Of course,” Edelgard said, placing a hand on her hip and surveying the crowds as though she were previewing a battlefield. “The guard and I shall draw their attention. In the meantime, peel off and stable your horses. I will rejoin you all when I can. Though, I doubt that will be any time soon.”

Hubert nodded approvingly, eyeing the crowds himself. “If I may be so bold as to make a suggestion, perhaps we should reconvene later tonight. Our dear friend Ferdinand has kindly invited us for dinner at his estate. I suspect the gossiping crowds would find precious little to say of Her Majesty visiting with the new Duke Aegir, _nor_ of any of his guests should they travel under the escort of nightfall.”

“Oh! That is an _excellent_ idea, Hubie,” Dorothea said, already planning the short leap from Edelgard’s carriage to Bernadetta and the Professor’s basically-just-wheels-tied-to-a-horse. “Bern, heads-up!”

“W-what?!” Bernadetta shrieked, holding her arms out anyway. She grabbed one of Dorothea’s hands as she hopped gracefully between transports, the Professor grabbed the other, and with their three efforts in concert, Dorothea was pulled onto their horse-trap. Caspar pulled up, unsteadily, next to them.

“So, what happens between then and now?”

The Professor shrugged.

“I guess we’ll just have to find something to do.”

==========

Bernadetta fiddled with her hands under the table. Well, not _her_ hands. She fiddled with the Professor’s hands, who had graciously offered them to her so she would have something to fiddle with. She, and more of her friends than she had thought would be there, were sitting about a dining table in the Aegir family’s Enbarr estate. Over their generational stint in office, the Aegir family had accrued quite a stately dining hall, meant to dazzle guests with the immeasurable Aegirs’ wealth and status.

Nowadays, however, the Aegirs were more than measurable. Ferdinand had dismissed most of the servants from their Enbarr estate and effectively shuttered many of its more opulent rooms. Through careful planning with Dorothea, he had also carved a small livable set of rooms from the copious mansion. One of those rooms was _not_ the main dining hall.

Instead, Bernadetta and company were gathered in the smaller servant’s dining room, directly adjacent the kitchen. Though smaller was, definitely, a very relative term. The room itself was half the size of Bernadetta and the Professor’s entire cottage, much of it dedicated to several square tables where the once-plentiful staff held their meals.

The table they were gathered at, identical to every other table in the room, was sized just right so that no-one felt out of conversation range with another. Pairs of the dining party claimed each side of the table: Bernadetta and the Professor, Edelgard and Caspar, Dorothea and Ferdinand, and, surprisingly, Linhardt and Annette.

The reason for Bernadetta’s fiddling wasn’t personal. It was sympathetic. Every other person at the table was, without exception, themselves fiddling over something.

Between volunteering his hands for Bernadetta’s emotional support, the Professor was wringing his coat out over a wooden bucket. Caspar was batting at one tuft of hair to try and hide another, larger, conspicuously singed tuft of hair. Dorothea was holding a magically-chilled compress against a tender-looking spot under Ferdinand’s left eye. Linhardt and Annette were looking over matching pairs of official-looking forms covered with severe red stamps. Only Edelgard seemed without something to worry about, save for worrying about everyone else. She let out a defeated sigh, leaning her forehead into her hands. “And here I dreamed my days of wrangling careless classmates were well and far behind me.”

The entire table erupted in a muddled syllable of protest, which stopped as everyone gave everyone else the floor. The Professor draped his coat over an empty chair and spoke up for all of them. “At least we’re all here, and at least we’re all safe. We’re even graced with a rare presence,” he said, nodding at Linhardt.

“Yes, well, we had to pay you back for the tea earlier,” Linhardt said, himself nodding at Dorothea and Bernadetta.

Dorothea shifted the compress between hands to keep the chill from overtaking her fingers. “Linhardt, is continuing to accept another’s charity your idea of paying them back?”

“No, going out of my _way_ to accept another’s charity is,” Linhardt retorted with a shake of his head. “I’ll have you know I had to walk _all_ the way from the Imperial archives to attend this meal.”

“Attend? This isn’t a class, Linhardt,” Caspar said, pointing a finger half-heartedly.

“And yet I _continue_ to be lectured.” Linhardt shook his head again.

“Dare I ask about those forms you are holding?” Edelgard asked, moving her forehead out of her hands so she could rest her chin upon them. “You do not look too pleased about them.”

“Edelgard, I am _so_ sorry about these!” Annette burst, looking like the apology had been building for quite some time. “There’s a perfectly good explanation, I swear. _We_ swear. Right, Linhardt?” She gritted her teeth and elbowed Linhardt vigorously.

“Unf. You know, those elbows might upset someone with thinner skin than I. Very well, we shall regale you with our excuse, Edelgard. There I was, enjoying a _lovely_ nap, when—”

“Ah-ah-ah, you know the rules, Lin,” Dorothea said, wagging a free finger. “If a story’s going to be long, then you need to _name_ it.”

“How did you know it was to be long?”

“It’s you, Lin, and it starts with a nap.”

“Hm. An astute observation, Dorothea. Very well. This is a tale I call: ‘Burning the Noontide Oil’.”

==========

By far, the worst part of sleeping was waking up. That moment when one becomes fully conscious that they are no longer unconscious was a sobering reminder punctuating each and every nap: all who sleep must, regrettably, awaken. However, paradoxically, those few moments of pure restfulness, when one first re-opens one’s eyes to the world, were also the most pleasant junctures that could possibly grace the human conscious experience. Perhaps there was a crest-related explanation to it all? None the matter, finding out would probably be more trouble than it was worth.

Linhardt picked his head up. Today, it seemed, he was sleeping at a desk. Where he awoke hardly surprised him; after all, it was just a function of where he went to sleep. He let his head droop back down onto the wooden surface it came from. Perhaps a follow-up nap would clear the haze of his nap.

“Linhardt,” a voice whispered. How pleasant. It was so familiar, light enough to fall asleep to.

“_Linhardt_.” Hm. It seemed more insistent. He picked his head up and looked about. He looked down, and then left, and then up, and then right. Right at a panicked, wide-eyed Annette.

“Lin_hardt!_” she whined at a deafening whisper. She might as well have just spoken normally. “I can’t believe you dozed off like that!”

Linhardt brought a hand to his chin. “Can’t you? _That_ seems unlikely. You’ve seen me doze off plenty of times before.”

“But not times that super duper _quadruple_ mattered! Edelgard’s gonna be here today!”

“Is that all? I believe you’re misremembering, Annette. Edelgard is due back to Enbarr _tomorrow_.”

“Today _is_ tomorrow, we were in here all night! Don’t you remember? You even made a quip about it when the palace bell chimed midnight!”

“Oh. Well, was it a good quip?”

“What?! Linhardt, that’s – well, yeah, actually, it was pretty good. But that’s _beside_ the point!”

Linhardt lazily muffed his ears. Even at a whisper, Annette could be rather loud. Sometimes, assuaging her worries was the logical choice to minimize overall commotion in the near future.

“And what is this point you are beside yourself with?”

“The _point_ is that we’ve got a lot of work to do and _not_ a lot of time to do it.” Annette plopped a tower of tomes, scrolls, and papers on the desk next to where Linhardt’s head had once been peacefully resting. It kept its form for a valiant breath, then toppled from a tower into a pile. Linhardt looked down and frowned. _Now_ where was he to rest his head?

“Annette, where did you even get all of these? There’s an archive’s worth of potential work in these pages.”

“Well, yeah. We’re _in_ the archives.”

Linhardt craned his neck up and around. Indeed, surrounding him were the ceiling-high shelves of the Imperial archives. Nestled safely beneath the palace, the tomes and scrolls and papers around him held a thousand years of knowledge, or at least what people once thought was knowledge. It was impressive, to say the least, and Linhardt found no small joy in perusing the tomes, chasing leads through the stacks, trailing to and fro from shelf to shelf as he followed the whims of his whimsical interests. He smiled, comforted by the promise, the potential. But, when his gaze fell back down, the pile was still there and Annette was still distraught.

“C’mon, Linhardt, I need you to pull it together.” Her expression shifted from panicked to pleading. “Please? The clock’s still ticking.”

Linhardt flipped through the top few sheaves of paper. A treatise on Dagdan weapons development, details on lost dance routines from the Mach region, proper inking techniques for traditional Brigid prayer tattoos – esoteric was a kind word for what Annette had unearthed. But, moreover, in each and every one of them, Linhardt saw the promise of something terrible: a chore. “I… suppose some of these may prove useful,” he said in an attempt to be kind, “if you are attempting to cook up a messy broth of a civilization by boiling the chunks of several ancient cultural traditions.”

“Well, that’s why I need you, Linhardt. Help me pick out the good chunks, will ya?”

Linhardt sighed. “Very well, if it will ease that worrisome whispering.” He gingerly scooped up a portion of the pile with one hand, pushed the rest down the length of the desk with the other, then, with due deference, placed his handful on the desk in front of him. Thinking twice, he fished a tome and several scrolls from the bottom of the pile and set them to the side. Annette leaned over, glancing at the titles of the works.

“Hey, I don’t recognize those. Were they on the desk before?”

“Indeed they were, before you so effectively made a forest of these trees.”

“Sorry, Linhardt. I shoulda checked. Are they for…?”

“Right again. It is a wonder you bother to ask when you seem to already know.” Linhardt picked the tome up and fiddled with a bookmark until it stuck out evenly. “I found one or two interesting leads related to leading methods in crest detection. As you may know, the two dominant families of crest detection methods are projection and concurrence. Projection is… oh, this is tedious. Do you know of what I speak, Annette?”

“I think I do. At least, I think I remember Hanneman talking about them.” Annette counted on her fingers as she spoke, eyes cast up as though peeking with practiced efficiency through her memories. “Projection’s what the crest analyzer in Hanneman’s office does, right? So concurrence must be the blood tests they did to us at birth.”

Linhardt smiled. “You have a sharp memory, Annette. Methods of projection are more convenient, given you have the correct equipment. However, they are also more sensitive to blood-trait deviations. Methods of concurrence, while more intrusive, are the more accurate of the two. Yet, concurrence methods are, themselves, susceptible to the idiosyncrasies of crest-bearing blood between crests, and even amongst bearers of the same crest. To make matters worse, the lower the ratio of crest-bearing to non-crest-bearing blood _within_ an individual, the more sensitive _either_ family is to variance, further exacerbating problems with differentiating between major and minor crests for the _same_ crest within the _same_ individual.”

“So whatever you do’s sensitive in one way or another, huh? Gee, sounds like quite a headache.”

“That it is, Annette. Which is _precisely_ why the two methodological families are oft paired to reduce error, false positive, and false negative rates. However, some cases of interaction between methods across families have been observed to cause crest-bearing and non-crest-bearing blood from the _same_ individual to behave as though they were blood bearing two different crests. Do you…?”

“Yeah, I think I follow. So, some combinations of projection and concurrence methods make someone’s blood act like they have two crests?”

“Precisely! The primary observed effect of such has been less reliable detection. Thus, the only studies related to these niche combinations focus on how to mitigate or avoid them. However, the polarizing effects therein also cause, between some methods, a partition.” Linhardt fished out one of the scrolls he had set aside and waved it in the air as though its contents would spill out and speak for themselves. “The bloods reject each other, and, in _some_ cases, naturally separate from one another.”

“Linhardt, that’s amazing! But… well, I mean, her blood should already be polarized against itself, right? The fact that it’s working at all…”

“Indeed. Something is stabilizing the combination, though it seemed to have done little for her siblings.” Annette looked down, rubbing her arm. Linhardt knew what that particular gesture meant. He frowned, putting the scroll back down. “I apologize. That was rather crass of me. But I do believe this may be a fruitful direction to help us help our dear friend Lysithea. There are many unanswered questions to this line of inquiry, which I look forward to discussing at length with Hanneman and Manuela.”

Annette still looked bothered. In situations like these, Linhardt figured a flattering truth may serve best.

“I have often said that those who humor me when I prattle about my interests are precious to me,” Linhardt said. Annette’s head rose, looking surprised. Surprised at what? He had said as much many times before. “Nonetheless, it is especially refreshing to have someone to speak to who then also cares to understand my prattling.”

“Oh, no, it’s no big deal,” Annette said, abashedly placing a hand behind her head. “I mean, I just piece together the things you’ve told me.”

“And yet even that much seems out of the grasp of most who listen to me. I have a theory on why this is so. Would you like to hear it?”

“Sure.”

“It is because you are smarter than they are, and you are kind enough to actually pay attention to me.”

Annette laughed, consciously covering her mouth with one hand to keep the archives peaceful. “Thanks, Linhardt. So, I’m guessing this is what you were doing with your time instead of the thing we were actually supposed to do?”

“Correct.” Linhardt tilted his head, brows furrowing. “Strange. You do not sound bothered.”

“That’s because that’s _just_ like you, Linhardt,” Annette said. She smiled warmly and settled down next to him. “I know you can’t help putting work in for something, or someone, you care so much about. And believe me, if there’s one thing I understand, it’s putting work in. But can I redirect your efforts for just a _teensy_ while so we can finish up?”

Linhardt nodded, starting on his tiny portion of the pile while Annette started on her the-whole-rest-of-the-pile.

Amongst the flicker-lit shelves and ageless volumes, without any windows and with precious few clocks, time often passed without warning in the halls of the Imperial archives. The only indication that the outside world was still turning was the occasional muffled toll of the palace bells. That noise, too, was easily forgotten, when one was consumed sufficiently by literary pursuits. Thus, the outside world only made itself known again when Linhardt and Annette were surprised by a pair of familiar voices.

“Hey you two!”

“Lin, Annette, are we interrupting?”

Linhardt looked up at the sounds, setting the scroll he was perusing into the ‘useful’ pile. “Bernadetta, what a surprise! A good one, mind you. _And_ Dorothea? To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Bernadetta and Dorothea stood above the pair, Bernadetta strategically slightly behind Dorothea. Bernadetta held a box in both hands by its ornate little ribbon, which she tried to wave with as best she could without jeopardizing it. Dorothea held a full tray of tea, complete with a steaming pot and two cups ready to pour.

==========

“So _that’s_ what you two were up to,” Dorothea said, switching her compress-holding hand once more and pointing a still-chilly finger between Linhardt and Annette. “You didn’t tell me it was official Edie business. I would’ve offered to help, you know!”

“That was precisely what I feared,” Linhardt said flatly.

“_Linhardt_!” Annette hissed, elbowing him again. “We had it covered.”

“Did you,” Edelgard said, audibly unconvinced. “Do you mean to suggest that those forms are in no way related?”

“They are quite related, though not in the way you think,” Linhardt said. “So, if I may continue our excuse—”

“Hold on, I should take it from here. The rest was kinda totally my fault,” Annette admitted with a sheepish laugh. “Anyway, we _did_ have it covered. Then…”

==========

“Hey yourself, you two!” Annette spouted, popping out of her seat and stretching. She was used to studying herself sore, but it felt nice to spread herself out so she could compress herself back into her work. “You’re kinda interrupting, but we could _definitely_ use an interruption. Whatcha got there?”

“Oh, this is chamomile. It’s supposed to ‘calm the nerves and heighten concentration’,” Dorothea said, mimicking some voice or other and placing the tea, tray and all, atop an adjacent desk.

“Really?” Linhardt said, lacing his fingers together and stretching them back. “I heard it was supposed to help one attain a restful sleep.”

“T-that’s what _I_ heard!” Bernadetta said, perking up before remembering where she was and perking herself back down. “But, either way, it’s kind of a win-win for you, right, Linhardt?” She placed her own delicately wrapped package down next to Linhardt, being extra careful to avoid bumping anything into anyone or anything else.

“I suppose you are right. Thank you very much for the intrusion.” Linhardt began to stand to claim his tea.

“Woah-hoah-hoah. Not so fast, Linhardt,” Annette said, urging him back down with some insistent hand waving. His help was rare, but definitely welcome. She absolutely had to do something in return. “Let me serve. It’s the least I can do for all your help with the thing you were kinda supposed to be doing anyway.” Annette hopped over to the tea-desk. Palming the handle of the tea pot, she noticed it was styled like a small gondola. Where did they get this tea set? She began to pour.

“If you insist. It seems my only role here is to thank the rest of you for your kindness, and so I shall hearken to my role with enthusiasm. Thank you.”

“Really, Lin? That’s the best thanks you can muster?” Dorothea said, leveraging several operas’ worth of experience with mocking disappointment.

“What do you mean? I practically delivered an entire _speech_ before that thank you. Oh, very well. I graciously thank you, Bernadetta, Dorothea, and Annette, for easing the passage of this most tedious of mornings. Despite _one_ of you committing me to its tedium to begin with.”

Annette laughed unashamedly, continuing to pour. One cup looked well topped off. On to the next one.

“Morning?” Dorothea said, a bit surprised.

“Huh. Guess Caspar was right; that really _was_ pretty Linhardt of me,” Bernadetta mused with a finger on her chin.

Linhardt looked up, confused, bidding them to elaborate. Dorothea obliged. “Lin, it hasn’t been morning for a while. In fact, it’s nearly four o’clock.”

“What?!” Annette yelled, forgetting where she was, forgetting the teapot in her hands, forgetting that turning around quickly would give the tea in said pot momentum, and forgetting that stopping suddenly would cause the momentum of the tea to carry it forcefully out of its pot. The aqueous blob of still-steaming tea flew gracefully through the dust and the stillness of the air about them, passing Dorothea’s slacked-jaw, passing Bernadetta’s wide eyes, and, very nearly, passing Linhardt’s astute gaze. Mere moments separated a now seemingly fated trio: the airborne brew, the pile of notes on Linhardt’s desk, and certain disaster.

Mere moments separated them. Mere moments, and astonishingly good reflexes.

Not unlike a sloth awakened into action, Linhardt intercepted the piping hot liquid with an unexpected burst of speed. He leapt from his chair, leapt into the way of the tea, and, upon feeling it soak through the front of his robe, leapt to the side with a panicked yelp.

“Ah I’m so sorry!” tumbled all at once from Annette’s mouth, with panic equal to, or greater than, Linhardt’s own.

Annette then, reflexively, committed to the one thing that could possibly have made the situation worse: she tried to help. With magic. Her hastily conceived thought process was, at the time, rather sound. Linhardt was too hot. She had to make him cold. What could she make him cold with? Her old go-to, magic.

Annette aimed towards Linhardt, jammed her hands in front of her, and let loose a blast of ice-laden wind. It instantly cooled the tea threatening Linhardt, fulfilling Annette’s goal. But it kept going. The wind billowed through and past Linhardt and slammed into the nearest shelf behind him. With a resounding whoosh, hundreds of delicate archival materials found new life flocking in the air about their shelf. Then, remembering that they were not birds, nor, for that matter, even alive, they all came slapping down onto the floor.

The cascading noise was startling. The cloud of dust, alarming. But what was _truly_ terrifying was the expression on the archivist on-call as she rounded the corner to investigate the commotion.

She sputtered out half a word, or two, or five, eyes rapidly making the rounds between Annette and Linhardt and the mess on the ground. The fact that Annette still had her hands out and that Linhardt’s now-windswept features were swept towards the scrambled shelf were incredibly incriminating.

Annette figured this, but she also figured a way out for her friends. She nodded to Dorothea and Bernadetta. “We’ve got this. Run.”

“W-what?!” Bernadetta squeaked, still whispering.

“_Run!_” Annette yelled, causing both of them to scurry for the door, heads tucked and hands covering their faces.

“Hey! Wait!” the archivist blurted, finally finding her words.

“Miss Archivist, they didn’t have anything to do with this I _swear_!” Annette said, drawing the archivist’s ire like a lightning rod. “It was all me.”

“It was all _us_.” Linhardt stepped next to Annette, dusting off the flakes of frost that had formed where the tea was once singeing through his robes. Annette was taken aback. She leaned in to whisper.

“Linhardt, what are you _doing_?”

“I am reducing the burden of your punishment,” he whispered back matter-of-factly.

“You are? Oh, Linhardt, I knew you cared!”

“My days at the archive would be much more demanding were you disbarred.”

“So it’s for my labor.”

“Yes.” When Annette pouted, and Linhardt continued. “Though, not entirely. I don’t imagine I’d do this for just anyone.”

“But you would for me?”

“Demonstrably so. For example, I currently _am_.”

Linhardt and Annette looked up from their mutual whispering. A shadow had fallen over them. The shadow of a still sputtering, very cross archivist. Annette gulped. What was fair was fair.

==========

“So, these forms…?” Edelgard said, drawing her fingers together in conclusion.

“Yes,” Annette said, hanging her head in shame.

“We were both disbarred,” Linhardt reported with distinctly less shame. He set his form down and looked at Edelgard expectantly.

Edelgard sighed, resting her forehead in her hands again. “My brightest, most trusted minds in Enbarr, and they cannot even go to the library anymore.”

“Does this mean you will not help us?” Linhardt asked, gathering Annette’s form atop his own. Edelgard sighed again, holding a hand out. Linhardt slid both forms to her with a smile. “Thank you, Edelgard. You will not regret this.”

“I am not so certain,” Edelgard said with a frown, slipping the forms into a small pack at her feet. “But, given the times, and given the necessity of your work… I will have to _be_ certain. Besides, I would not allow my friends to languish on their own. Instead, they should languish together, should they not?”

Linhardt and Annette glanced at each other, then glanced at Edelgard, who bore the closest thing Bernadetta had ever seen to a mischievous grin on her face.

“Yeah… I think,” Annette said unsurely. “What’d you have in mind?”

“I shall pardon your disbarment, but the Emperor cannot be seen making such exceptions lightly and without consequence. I would like you two to help with the recent reorganization efforts within the Imperial archives. As history shifts and the truth comes to light, absolutes which the church once expounded are now being held with closer scrutiny. As well, new secrets are sifting their way to the surface. Surely your efforts would be invaluable on this front.”

“Just some work, huh? I’m totally up for it, Edelgard!” Annette said, looking chipper again. “And I’ll make sure Linhardt’s up for it, too.”

Linhardt nodded. “Those archives hold the key to my research. Work I would not wish upon myself appears to be the only avenue by which I may reach work I _would_ wish upon myself. So, if I must work, then work I must.”

Edelgard nodded back, satisfied. “Thank you. I know I can count on you. Both of you. By the way, did you happen to finish the other task I asked of you? Your story was rather nebulous as to its conclusion.”

“Oh! Yeah, we pulled through somehow.” Annette pulled a bag up from under the table and passed it over to Edelgard. “I made sure to compile a summary with some notes about the relevance of each of the documents there.”

“Excellent. I thank you, Annette, Linhardt. Not just as an Emperor, though, truly, you are indispensable to our efforts and to the stability of all of Fódlan. I thank you also as a friend, one who you have both helped greatly.”

“See, Lin? Now _that’s_ how you thank someone,” Dorothea said, grinning playfully at Linhardt. He simply nodded in acknowledgment.

Annette blushed a bit, regarding Edelgard with an ear-splitting smile. “That was definitely a _really_ super nice thank you. Thanks for the thanks!”

“You are thanking me for thanking you?” Edelgard said, amused. “Well then, let’s leave it at that, lest we remain here all day rallying gratitude back and forth.” She tucked the bag Annette passed her next to her other pack, shifting them both under her chair with a heel. “And how did you two find yourselves there?” Edelgard asked, now shifting her gaze between Dorothea and Bernadetta. Bernadetta shrank into her chair, leaving Dorothea to speak for the both of them.

“Oh, that’s a whole other story; one that happens to end with us being accessory to their disbarment. But, before that… Ferdie, isn’t there something you should be checking on?”

“Ah, of course!” Ferdinand said, hopping to his feet and passing the compress from Dorothea to himself. “I must tend to our dinner preparations. Were I to do this Aegir family recipe a disservice, none here would get to experience its _true_ splendor! Thank you, Dorothea.” Ferdinand flashed Dorothea a brilliant smile, half of which was lost behind the compress on his cheek, before whisking himself away to the kitchen.

Dorothea smiled back with a coy wave, then sighed in relief as soon as the kitchen door closed. “Okay. Good. Now, I can tell this story to its fullest. I call this tale: ‘Bernie and Dorothea’s Relationship Advice Teatime Hour’. So, right after we parted ways at—”

“Hold on,” Linhardt interrupted. “Why did I have to give _my_ story a clever name while yours sounded like nothing more than a description of the situation you are about to describe to us?”

“I never said it had to be a _good_ name, Lin,” Dorothea said, sticking her tongue out. “We’ve a story called ‘That One Time With Raphael’s Boots’, after all.”

Everyone at the table groaned. “Please,” Caspar begged, “let’s not talk about that. There was a lively ecosystem in those things.”

The table groaned again, this time blaming Caspar, who put his hands up in both defense and confusion. Dorothea refused the temptation to tease him relentlessly and launched back into launching her story.

“Anyway, after we parted ways…”

==========

Enbarr, as a city, was as inconstant as it was old and storied. Sure, the buildings had been there since Wilhelm Paul and even before, and every Emperor after had contributed to create the barely-contained metropolitan patchwork that was the Imperial capitol. But, aside from the physical construction of Enbarr, everything else had a tendency of changing right under one’s nose. Residents changed, regimes changed, trends and attitudes and beliefs changed. Yet, there was one thing about Enbarr that Dorothea could always rely on.

Dorothea could always rely on Enbarr to surprise her.

As they wove their way through the city streets, away from where they had stabled their horses, Dorothea was surprised about two things. The first was how shockingly fast gossip spread from the city gates. Many blocks and mere tens-of-minutes separated from their entry, and already every fifth person was whispering about the Emperor’s return. Thankfully, none of those whispers included anyone else but the Emperor and her guard.

The second was that, despite her demeanor, Bernadetta could move through the crowded streets of Enbarr without screaming and hiding every other block. Instead, Bernadetta clung to Dorothea’s arm as though it were the only thing keeping her from drowning in the pedestrian tides. Though endearing, it kindled no small amount of worry in Dorothea.

“Hey, Bern. Are you still okay with going out for tea with me? We can go somewhere quieter or try to find the Professor if—”

“No! No, I-I am com_pletely_ fine with getting tea on my own, without the Professor’s help,” Bernadetta said resolutely.

“Just my help?”

“Just yours,” Bernadetta confirmed, smiling brightly at her friend. Dorothea felt her heart melt just a bit. She was beginning to see why the Professor was so drawn to her.

“Alrighty, Bern. If you need me, I’ll be here.” Dorothea had a feeling that ‘if’ was actually a ‘when’. “Now, do you remember where we’re going?”

“Um, somewhere along Ionius and Canal?”

“That’s right! But _which_ Canal street?”

“Oh, uh, the one running along the Palace?”

“Bingo, Bern, Ionius and _West_ Canal Street.” Dorothea trudged forward, deftly stepping and striding between the flows of people around them both. What with all the foot traffic, walking through Enbarr was a talent unto itself. For Dorothea, though, having spent most of her formative years in those crowds, it felt as natural as taking a stroll through the forest.

But Dorothea could tell that, for her friend, it was more like a forest of prickly shrubs. Bernadetta avoided contact with strangers like each of them was covered in quills. However, it didn’t slow them down as much as Dorothea thought. Bernadetta was quite adroit at matching Dorothea’s movements, so much so that the two almost moved in the same way at the same time. How was she so good at it? Did she spend weeks at a time clinging to the Professor when they were home in their cottage?

The thought made Dorothea giggle, but she hid it well from her traveling companion. She let her feet lead her, whisking her along a hundred familiar steps, taking her between the crowds wherever it was thinnest, and keeping her to the walkways along the canals.

By far the quickest way to get around Enbarr was by its canals. However, the gondolas were always full of those who either knew that fact or were seeking a scenic tour of the historic city. Nowadays, with everyone from all over Fódlan visiting, the latter was the case more often than the former. Still, if not by gondola, the canals were still the quickest way to get around Enbarr. Walking alongside them, following their logical, grid-like flow through the city, always guaranteed Dorothea that she would flow along to wherever she was going.

It was by following the canals that Dorothea and Bernadetta finally found themselves on the west canal, and by following that that they found themselves at Ionius and West Canal Street. The juncture itself was at an odd mixture of two parts of the cities: the historic Palace District leading in from the west, and the Ionius District, touted as the newest and most chic part of the city – though everyone who lived in Enbarr knew ‘new’ meant ‘less than a century old’.

There, in a row of shops leading off from the crossroads, a small, modest townhouse stood. Outside the townhouse hung a lovingly hand-crafted sign: ‘Gondola Brews’, written atop a gondola sitting in an over-sized cup of tea. Dorothea and Bernadetta alit at the threshold of the establishment, and Dorothea shook her traveling companion from her arm-clinging stupor.

“Here we are, Bern!” Dorothea said, stepping both of them over the threshold. The cacophony of the crowded streets about them gave way almost immediately to the warm chatter of intimate conversation, the patrons’ relaxed words flowing with and through each other into an indistinguishable, welcoming brew. “This is one of those new tea parlors that’ve been popping up all over Ionius. It’s supposed to feel like having tea in someone’s parlor, though I doubt it’ll be anything as cozy as the one at _your_ place.”

Bernadetta giggled. “Well, it’s more the company that makes ours so nice. So, since you’re here, our table’s gonna be just as cozy, right?”

“Oh, you really are the sweetest, Bern,” Dorothea said. And she meant it. Once she had gotten to know her, and once she had stopped being deathly afraid of talking, Bernadetta was the most pleasant company Dorothea could ask for. “C’mon, I know the perfect spot. Hopefully it’s not taken.”

Dorothea took them to the front, waving at a very specific waitress behind the counter. The waitress was helping someone pour from an oversized pot of tea, constantly fixing her headband to wrangle the parts of her hair that her ponytail didn’t. She turned about, wiping her hands on her apron, and, after taking a moment to confirm who was waving at her, waved back with twice the enthusiasm.

“Dorothea! Heya, welcome back! You and your Ferdinand again today?”

“Not today, Claire. I’ve brought someone else with me; just don’t ask me to compare them. By the way, does that one corner happen to be open?”

“Well, welcome to Gondola Brews! Our flavors will ‘take you away’,” Claire said, rolling her eyes just a bit. “And by ‘that one corner’, d’you mean the one on the second floor? Table’s just been bussed, so you are in _luck_.” Claire plucked two crisply printed menus out of a basket and bid Dorothea and Bernadetta to follow her up a set of stairs.

The layout of the tea parlor wasn’t much changed from that of the townhouse it was situated in, except it looked like someone had taken down as many walls as possible without collapsing the building into itself. This was especially true on the second floor, where most of the once-several rooms were now united into a single, trim level of tea enjoyment.

In one corner of that level, in a tucked-away alcove overlooking the main street, was a small, raised booth adjacent to an unexpected window; it was very easy to miss from street-level, yet gave a commanding view of both the street and the nearby western canal. The booth itself hadn’t any chairs. Instead, a wealth of pillows padded every surface of the booth, with a small, round table in the center at just the right height for someone sitting on the floor.

From Bernadetta’s surprised expression, Dorothea knew that she had missed the window on their way in. Perfect. Bernadetta was a sharp one. If she hadn’t see it, Dorothea knew that Bernadetta knew that most other people probably wouldn’t see it, either. This gave them the rare opportunity to sit at a street-side window in Enbarr without anyone on the outside noticing them. Dorothea grinned to herself. It was the perfect ploy to make her Bern comfortable.

Claire left them their menus and promised to return shortly to take their orders. Bernadetta looked relieved. Claire _was_ a stranger, after all. “Wow, this really is like our parlor,” Bernadetta said, sidling into the booth across Dorothea and settling into the pillows on the floor.

“Right?” Dorothea said, flipping her menu open idly. She already knew it front-to-back, but made a habit of browsing through it every time anyway. It was choc-full of all the ‘hot new teas’, pun intended, and tea-like beverages, including an exotic page headlined ‘coffees’. But, for the less adventurous, there was a section for old familiar standbys as well. A section that Bernadetta immediately shot to.

“Hmm, I think they have our go-to here,” Dorothea said, thumbing over to the same section. “How about we share a nice Albinean Berry Blend?”

“Actually, I was thinking of, um, m-maybe trying something other than my go-to. Maybe something in the new section. Or maybe even a coffee?” Bernadetta put on a brave face, which did nothing to help the tremble in her voice. Dorothea reached out and poked Bernadetta’s menu, catching her attention.

“Bern, what’s all this about? You can tell me, you know.”

“Thanks, Dorothea. I told the Professor, and myself, that I’d try to do more on my own. You know, break out of my comfort zone a bit. But, looking at all these drinks…” Bernadetta’s eyes shot back and forth, brow furrowed. If Dorothea had to guess, her friend’s thought process was probably something along the lines of this: she could order something new and risk hating it, for which she’d have to commit to the act and drink it the whole time as though she loved the new experience, or, she _could_ order something she already knew she’d like, both risking nothing and _guaranteeing_ that she’d enjoy her tea-time.

Dorothea sighed, closing Bernadetta’s menu in front of her. Her eyes kept going back and forth for a bit, then shot up to Dorothea. No need for all this anguish. There was another way out.

“How about this? We share a pot of Albinean Berry Blend _and_ try one of those new snacks the eastern merchants have been bringing into the city.”

“O-oh, okay. And what snack did you have in mind? You kinda closed my menu, so I can’t really look at them.”

Dorothea chuckled, close-mouthed, and flipped her own menu around. “Here. It’s called baklava. I _think_ it’s from Morfis. Or Almyra? Oh, I really shouldn’t be so clueless about such things, should I. Anyway, I’ve heard it’s _delectable_. I don’t know what tea’s supposed to pair well with it, but I figured having something delicious to drink _and_ something delicious to eat is a pretty good pairing regardless.”

Bernadetta nodded along enthusiastically. “Yeah. Yeah! Let’s do that. Thanks, Dorothea.”

Fulfilling her promise, Claire returned shortly. Dorothea relayed their shared order to her so that Bernadetta wouldn’t have to speak, then settled in to the comfort of the pillows surrounding her. “So then. Are you comfortable, Bern?”

Bernadetta nodded.

“Good, good. Because it’s time for me to come clean.” Dorothea leaned forward. Bernadetta leaned back. “Bern, I need some relationship advice.”

==========

The whole table leaned back with a chorus of chair-leg-on-floor squeaks.

“What?” Dorothea asked.

“What d’ya mean ‘what’,” Caspar said, now pointing half-heartedly at Dorothea. “_You_ went there to ask _her_ for _that_?” When Bernadetta yelped and dug her face into the Professor’s sleeve, Caspar immediately back-pedaled. “Sorry, Bernadetta, no offense. You’re a wealth-a knowledge. I just figured Dorothea would have a bit more wealth in _that_ trade.”

“Wouldn’t you just?” Dorothea said, sounding a bit disheartened. “But look around the table. Who’re the _only_ people here who are happily married?”

Everyone else looked at the Professor and Bernadetta, then shrugged at each other in agreement. Only the Professor saw. Bernadetta was still face-deep in his sleeve.

“Anyway, if there are no further objections—”

==========

“What?!” Bernadetta exclaimed. She looked around to make sure she hadn’t drawn anybody’s attention, then continued with a more measured response. “Why me? Shouldn’t _you_ know more about that than I do?”

“Well, it’s true that I’ve been on more dates than you have,” Dorothea said, idly drawing circles on the table with her finger. “But I haven’t been as… successful in my love live as you.”

“I-I don’t think relationships are really meant to be a competition. But, even if they were, I don’t think that’s true at all, either. I mean, you’ve got Ferdinand, right? I thought you two were happy.”

“We are, don’t get me wrong! But we don’t have the same commitment that you and the Professor do.” Dorothea sighed, forcing herself to broach the next part of her woes. “Or the same… passion.”

Bernadetta laughed nervously, scratching the back of her head. “W-what do you mean?”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” Dorothea said, flicking a wrist. She couldn’t help herself. She just _had_ to tease her. “By the way, you make the _cutest_ noises. Even muffled through a cheap wooden wall.”

Dorothea winked. Bernadetta blanched.

“W-w-w-…” Dorothea braced herself for Bernadetta’s scream. Instead, Bernadetta did something completely unexpected. She snapped her mouth shut, took a deep breath in through her nose, then, when she opened her mouth again, responded in a very even tone. “I can’t believe you heard that. My life is over.”

“It’s not over!” Dorothea said through a burst of laughter. She grabbed Bernadetta’s hand reassuringly “I’m sorry Bern. You and the Professor have something really special. Really, you do! I just wanted to ask you how you _got_ that something special.”

“Well, the Professor’s really nice to me,” Bernadetta said. Dorothea could tell she was talking straight through her embarrassment. When had she started acting so tough? “And, um… well, actually, I don’t know _what_ he sees in me.”

“I can think of a few things,” Dorothea said with a wink, “but, if it’s easier for you, just talk about the Professor.”

“Okay. I can do that!” Bernadetta said, starting to count off items on her fingers. “He, umm, always remembers my favorite foods, and he rubs my back when I don’t feel good, and when I ask him to stay inside with me he usually does unless it’s important, and he asks me to stay _outside_ sometimes which is really for the better, and he’s really fun to talk to, and he always listens really well, and he gives really good advice, and he cares about what I say, and he’s got a cute smile, and I can go with him _anywhere_, and… yup.” Bernadetta stopped abruptly. She was smiling when she began, and only smiled wider as she filled her list out. Curious, Dorothea glanced at her hands. She had run out of fingers to count on. Bernadetta really was exact in the most peculiar ways.

“Huh,” Dorothea said. She crossed her arms and rested a hand on her cheek. “That was really sweet, Bern. But also very… normal. I was expecting something more romantic. Something like ‘he’s everything to me’ or ‘I would give the world for him’.”

“Well, that’d be kind of a silly thing to say. There’s a lot more to everything and the world than just me and him. But… me-and-him is more than just me-as-well-as-him. _Together_ with him, a lot of those other things out there are just a bit – okay, more than a bit – okay, they’re _way_ better.” Bernadetta was positively beaming now, directing her glance shyly out of the window to the canal. The two of them were at just the right angle that the clouds overhead seemed to swim through the canal’s clear, blue waters.

Dorothea leaned back, resting hand now rubbing her cheek. Did she feel the same with Ferdinand? Without Ferdinand, would she feel the same? “How do you know everything’s better if you’re always together? Wouldn’t you just get used to how things are with him? Or would you absolutely _die_ if he were to suddenly leave?” Dorothea said dramatically, earning a small giggle from Bernadetta.

“Hmm, good point,” Bernadetta said, pensively rubbing her cheek as well. “But I remember what it was like _before_ we had each other. I was alive back then, so I know I’d make do without him. But making do with your life and enjoying your life are two entirely different things. When I imagine what it’d be like to go back to those days…” Bernadetta shuddered, slumping into her seat. “Well, like I said, he’s not everything. But a lot of things would be a lot less without him.”

Dorothea slumped as well, performing the same thought experiment. What would things be like without Ferdie? If she went back to the days before him? She’d definitely survive. She’d probably still enjoy herself, too. But would everything feel lacking? No, it was like Bernadetta said, he wasn’t everything. But would most things feel lacking? Would _enough_ things feel lacking? Dorothea groaned and was about to droop her head down to the table when Claire appeared, brandishing their tray of drinks and snacks triumphantly.

“Here we are! You would _not_ believe how chaotic the kitchen is today. It’s – hey, you alright, Dorothea?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Dorothea said, straightening up. Bernadetta followed her example, but kept her mouth clamped shut. “Just relationship stuff.”

“Oh no, with your Ferdinand? Well, maybe _this_,” she said, placing the tray between them, “will help you sort things out. And if you don’t want him anymore, do me a favor and send him my way, will you?”

Dorothea scoffed playfully. “If _I_ don’t want him, there’s probably a very good reason why.” Claire laughed, tilting her head up with a big “hah!” and spinning about to walk to her next table. The short exchange sparked something in Bernadetta’s eye.

“Hey, Dorothea. I shared, so, um, it’s only fair if you do, too, right? Unless you don’t want to. You don’t have to.”

“No, you’re right Bern. I’ll share. Well, I think I told you a bit when we were enjoying a _slightly_ different beverage in a _slightly_ different parlor,” Dorothea said, placing their cups and beginning to pour for Bernadetta. She palmed the handle carefully. She knew the place had a theme, but she wished they hadn’t made the handles that weird gondola shape. “Things are very… normal. A lot like with you and the Professor, as it sounds. But I’m still a bit… well, how should I say this. I’m not as sure about some things as you seem to be about the Professor.”

“What kinda things?” Bernadetta said, perking up in that way of hers when she thought she could be useful. Dorothea smiled. _So_ eager to help.

“I mean the things you said before, about being without him.”

“Hmm,” Bernadetta pondered, pushing her tea cup around idly – but carefully. “Well, how about this? What if I were to tell you that Ferdinand stopped existing?”

“Well of course I’d feel terrible, but I’d feel terrible regardless of whether we were together.” The tea, now released from its pot, threw a gentle coup over the rest of the scents in the shop, turning their table over to the authority of its delicious, berry-filled aroma. Dorothea shifted the pot over to her own cup, savoring the scent. She could tell Bernadetta was doing the same.

“Okay,” Bernadetta said, finally daring a sip from her cup. Still too hot, it seemed. She placed it back down. “What if I were to tell you he still existed, but you could never spend time together anymore?”

Dorothea felt a pang, but swiftly reasoned her way through it. “Even if we weren’t _together_ together, it’s not like we’d never spend time together ever again.”

“That’s sure true,” Bernadetta agreed. “Alright, how about this. What about Ferdinand makes you smile?”

Taken aback, it took Dorothea a second to find her tongue. What about him made her _smile_? She set the pot down, eager to try her own drink. “You mean, what about him individually? Or what about him when he’s with me?”

“You know, like that list I gave you earlier about the Professor. Tell me ten things. They can be as big or as little as you want.”

Dorothea laughed. She was game. “Alright, Bern. Let’s see here. I like his hair, it’s so fun to play with. And that face he makes when I tease him? Priceless. Sometimes he doesn’t even get that I’m teasing him ‘till we’re several minutes in! Those are two separate things, by the way. But, despite being so dense, he has the sharpest wit hidden underneath it all. He’s also always so _earnest_ with me. It’s cute, and he’s a good person for it – I mean, I don’t think I could even _imagine_ him trying to lie. And he gives it his all, no matter what he’s doing, large or small. Besides that, his enthusiasm and positivity are forces of _nature_. I can’t count how many times he’s picked me up by doing nothing more than being him. What are we at. Seven? Here’s three more: he’s gorgeous to look at. I guess that one’s pretty subjective, huh? Well, _I_ think so. He always makes time for me, which is especially hard given how busy he is. And, he cares – _actually_ cares – about me. Not just how I sound, or how I look, but who I am. You know how rare that is to find, Bern?”

Bernadetta shook her head. “Well, at least you’ve got, um, o-one more person around like that,” she said, giving a wink that looked more like she was blinking and forgot to close one eye. “Um… that person’s me. If you didn’t get it.”

Dorothea crossed her hands over her heart. Had she just tried to _flirt_? Oh, it was adorable! “Bern, you really are the _sweetest_. Thanks for listening. How was my list?”

“It was really good! You said way more than I did for mine. Now, um, think about all those things you just said. What if those were all to disappear? What if you could never have them again?”

Dorothea felt that same pang again, but this time it stayed. _Never_? The thought made her shudder. “But you don’t necessarily need a relationship for those things, right?”

“Probably not,” Bernadetta said, finally taking a full-bodied sip of her tea. She hummed happily, then set it back down to cool some more. “But because you _are_ in one, you get to enjoy those things all the time! Besides, you’re not the only one getting something out of your relationship, you know. Every relationship’s made of two people. You’re real strong, Dorothea. I’ve seen it tons of times. With you there, you can protect all the things about him that make you smile. And you can make him smile, too. Isn’t that worth it?”

It was Dorothea’s turn to beam, though she didn’t turn to hide it. Definitely. She could _definitely_ see why the Professor was so drawn to her. “You’re right. Maybe I’m just going about things the wrong way. I’ve never been in a relationship quite as serious as this one. Maybe I need to do more with him? Ferdinand _is_ quite busy buzzing away as the new Duke Aegir, and I’ve got my own things going on, too. Well, you already knew that. You’re a part of one of those things, after all.”

“O-oh. I know you said he makes time for you, but are you finding _enough_ time for each other?” Bernadetta asked, waving a palm over her cup to gauge how it was cooling. “I couldn’t imagine working away from the Professor. We share a lot of moments when we’re on assignment.”

“Well, not everyone works in a husband-wife duo,” Dorothea said, a bit envious. Thinking on it again, that envy turned to speculation. “I _guess_ I can try to help more with his reforms. He’s certainly listened to me in the past. You know, people don’t think so because he was the former Prime Minister’s son, but Ferdie really took Edelgard’s cause to heart. He’s been trying to make the Aegir territory more equitable for all, nobles _and_ commoners alike.”

“Woah,” Bernadetta said. Dorothea nodded; ‘woah’ was right. She admired that part of Ferdinand – the part that, like Edelgard, was resolved to make the world something better. And he was always working so hard for that ‘something better’, even if he didn’t have the talent, the power, or the pure force of will that Edie did. Surely that was a cause worth Dorothea’s time, too. “Well, if anyone knows how commoners feel about nobles, it’s probably not Ferdinand,” Bernadetta mused, “and it’s _definitely_ you.”

Dorothea nodded with a slight chuckle, speculation turning to resolve. “Yeah. Some perspective can’t hurt, right?” She picked up her cup and gave it a probing sip. The flavor was everything its aroma promised. “Thanks, Bern. You don’t know how much this means to me. I was actually really worried about all that nonsense. But, after talking to you, that nonsense is starting to make a bit more sense. There was _one_ more thing I was hoping you would help me with.”

“What’s this other thing?” Bernadetta said, again eager to help. Dorothea stifled a giggle behind her hand. Had Bernadetta forgotten already? Hard as the next subject was to broach, a guilty part of her still _really_ wanted to pry. It was a give and take. First, she had to give.

“Well, Ferdinand’s old-fashioned. You know that, right? Always going on and on about embodying the ideals of nobility. Unfortunately, _one_ of those ideals is abstaining from certain… premarital proclivities.”

“Oh,” Bernadetta said. “Oh no. W-wait, I don’t think I’m the best one to—”

“Nonsense, Bern!” Dorothea said, grabbing her excuse and tossing it out the window before it could properly form. “I know that you know that I _know_ that you and the Professor do _not_ abstain from the same premarital proclivities.”

Bernadetta shot her cup to her mouth, preventing her from speaking under the guise of drinking tea. Clever. Dorothea leaned back, allowing her plan to roll forward.

“Listen, I’m not going to pry on your day-to-day passions. I’m just at my wit’s _end_ about how to approach Ferdinand with this. I can tell he’s interested, but he’s ever-so nervous about it.” Dorothea lazily sipped from her cup, allowing her words to sit in the air for a spell. Eventually, Bernadetta lowered her cup to breathe. Dorothea continued. “I haven’t had to be someone’s first in quite a while, you know. I’m a bit nervous, too. So, maybe if I had a bit of a refresher…?”

“Hmm… nope.”

Dorothea snapped her fingers disappointedly. “Well, will you at least tell me everything leading _up_ to your and the Professor’s first time?”

“I guess, if it’ll help. S-sure. Alright. It’s, um, kind of a long story.”

“You know the rules,” Dorothea said, taking another refreshing sip from her cup.

“Oh, right. Well, I call this story—”

==========

“Dorothea, is this story-within-a-story _really_ necessary?” Edelgard interjected, hand resting as casually as she could manage in front of her face to hide her growing blush.

“No. But aren’t you _curious_?” Dorothea teased, raising her eyebrows enticingly. Everyone else at the table leaned in, except for Edelgard, who, notably, didn’t say no.

Everyone except for the Professor and Bernadetta. Dorothea looked over to Bernadetta, but she was too deep in the Professor’s sleeve for eye contact. Instead, she looked up at the Professor, who took the hint and jostled Bernadetta gently. Bernadetta replied by saying something which was probably perfectly audible to the cloth in the Professor’s sleeve. The Professor nodded and patted her on the head.

“She said it’s fine, she shouldn’t be embarrassed and she needs to get over it.”

Looking at her increasingly clingy reaction, everyone knew she was lying about at least one of those things. Still, Dorothea continued.

“Anyway, as I was saying Bern was saying…”

==========

“Oh, right. Well, I call this story: ‘Everything Leading Up’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my Bylie-bear, [Allekha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allekha), for reading and editing. Love you!


	7. Enbarr Days and Enbarr Nights (II)

“Everyone’s leaving.”

Bernadetta pushed her breakfast around glumly. Usually, she _loved_ sunny-side up. Today, however, her eggs were as droopy as she was. That just wouldn’t do; today was a special day. Or, rather, Bernadetta planned to make today special.

It was barely a month after the war’s end. Enough time for things to settle, for the hectic pace of war to give way to that of peace. Unfortunately, peace was proving to be similarly hectic. In its own way. The war was over, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t more to be done. And the ‘more’ everyone had to or wanted to do drew them, gradually, away from the monastery, across a vast, waiting Fódlan whereupon everyone’s futures were lying, scattered, for them to go forth and find.

Bernadetta thought she had found hers at the monastery. Steadily, however, it was trickling away from her.

“You say that every day,” the Professor noted, watching her push and prod her meal about.

“It’s _true_ every day.”

The Professor nodded, brows raised slightly in the center. Sympathy. Or was it worry? Bernadetta was getting more fluent in the Professor’s body language, but some expressions were still difficult to differentiate.

The Professor leaned across the table and poked her yolk open with his fork. With a couple of deft fork-strokes, he traced an arc and dolloped two dots above it. Bernadetta trapped a laugh in her cheeks with a small “pfft.” Did he think drawing a smiley face was enough to put a smile on her face?

She grinned. Like with most things, the Professor was right.

“Just because they’re not here doesn’t mean they’re gone,” the Professor said, leaning back to prod at his own breakfast. “They’re out where they belong, but we can still visit them. In fact, we _should_.”

“I know,” Bernadetta said, her grin and her dour feelings evening out into something outwardly neutral. “But that means going places. I’d rather have all my friends at home, where _I_ belong.” She glanced about at her old, familiar dining hall. Except when they were on missions or on campaign, she had eaten nearly every meal for the past six years in the same place. The same mottled stone pillars, the same creaky tables and chairs, the same latticed windows barring the sun into checkers of light, angling this way during breakfast and that way during dinner, blending into the constant inconstancy of the same flickering candles and candelabras, alighting the same faces who had, time and again, shared her dining hall with her, partaking in the same thirty-some-odd dishes that any of them knew how to cook.

Six years. Over a fourth of her life. The only thing that really _had_ changed over that time were the voices. Pitches had gotten lower, tones more matured. Voices bearing classwork and carelessness changed their charges to the grim burdens of war, and, from that, to the unburdened dreams of the world that came after.

And always, Bernadetta, and everyone else, sought, in this hall, to relax; to ease themselves from their assignments, to take an uneasy rest between battles, to let lie the day’s burdens and enjoy some food. A small oasis on their trek between duties. A place where tongues unraveled and friends drifted together through talk.

Like she and the Professor had. Maybe that was why he spent so much time here. Come to think of it, Bernadetta saw him here almost every day off, sometimes changing meals and chatting to different people for hours at a time.

Maybe she should try that?

“I spoke to the labor chief, by the way,” the Professor said, mentally reigning Bernadetta back to the table. Had she been staring? Oh no. Hopefully it wasn’t weird. The Professor continued as though he hadn’t noticed, which was what Bernadetta earnestly hoped. “Said it shouldn’t be too long after month’s end. We’ll have a new place to call our own, soon.”

“Meaning it’ll be our turn soon?”

The Professor nodded, idly tumbling his eggs with his fork. “I hope you’ll find it a place to belong, too.” The same tilt in his brows. Worry. This one was worry.

“W-well, what made the monastery so nice was my friends. And you. So, you know, as long as you’re there, um… you know.” Bernadetta dipped her head. She was still terrible at talking about things that mattered. Luckily, it was the Professor. No-one else would be so patient.

“Thanks, Bernie.”

Bernadetta dipped her head lower, this time as much in happiness as abashment. Sounded like she had said the right thing. Oh, she hoped she had. She couldn’t let _anything_ ruin today. She distracted herself by watching that odd thing the Professor did with his eggs. He followed her eyes with his own.

“Jeralt used to do this with _his_ eggs. I don’t know how or when, but I caught the habit.”

“I guess the egg doesn’t fall far from the coop, huh?” Bernadetta teased, grinning again. The Professor huffed a small puff of air, lips curling into an open-mouthed smile. That half-laugh. It was the closest thing Bernadetta usually got to a real laugh out of him. “So, what’s on the agenda today?”

“The normal duties, plus a bit of outside-the-walls work. I’ll be helping Lysithea with something in the library for most of the tail end.”

“Okay. Yeah, I’ve got normal stuff all day, too. Um, I’ll probably finish before you, so… meet you in the library?”

The Professor lifted his head up instinctively to nod, then let it fall diagonally into a shake. “Let’s meet back here for dinner, around seven-ish. Lysithea’s been working herself ragged lately. I’ve got a plan.”

That glean in his eye. Looks like he really _did_ have a plan. “Okay! You need me for anything, just let me know!” Bernadetta grinned, happily munching on her breakfast. She had a plan, too.

==========

Over her six year tenure at Garreg Mach, Bernadetta had become quite expert at navigating duty assignment. Some duties were still absolutely on her not-okay list, like hunting, room-to-room laundry collection, supply shopping, informational-slash-guest services – actually, her not-okay list might have been longer than her okie-dokie list. Either way, there was only one sure way to make sure she was pitching in in a way that wasn’t paralyzingly difficult. Show up to duty assignment, and be proactive.

Thus, to preserve her insular comforts, Bernadetta had become one of the most forthcoming and insistent on volunteering for duties. Things like stable duty, plant care, or anything where she knew a friend would be there with her were always snatched up by the slumbering Bernie-bear before she continued her hibernation. Today was no exception. She spent some time in the gardens, looking after the hedges and blooming bulbs, picking the white roses that looked late in the season, then hid away in her room until it was time for evening cooking duty. With the precision only possible by an expert at duty-assignment navigation, she started her shift at _just_ the right time to be done when she was to meet the Professor in the dining hall. Precisely seven o’clock.

Unfortunately, the Professor marched in at precisely six o’clock. Not that Bernadetta minded; seeing more of him was always a good thing. Apron still on, hair still drawn back behind her kitchen-servant’s hat, and meal freshly pulled off of her stovetop onto someone-or-another’s plate, Bernadetta waved him to the counter with a food-singed spatula.

“Heya, Professor! Got any, um, _special_ requests?” Bernadetta winked as best she could, but couldn’t commit and instead stagger-blinked, to the Professor’s fleeting consternation.

“Huh. Actually, I do. I need a couple of orders of something sweet. Well, _two_ couples of orders. Can you help me, Bernie?”

Bernadetta nodded enthusiastically, her servant’s hat flopping along at half a nod’s lag. She liked being useful, but, for all the help he’d given her, she _loved_ being able to help the Professor back. “Four orders of something sweet, comin’ right up! Is this a part of your plan?”

The Professor nodded, scanning the room for something. What was he pulling together? Knowing him, it was probably going to be that special combination of incredibly-clever and so-obvious-she-couldn’t-believe-she-didn’t-think-of-it that made all the Professor’s plans so practical and effective. Bernadetta eagerly went to work, trying not to get too giddy. She had to focus. The Professor was counting on her, after all.

Bernadetta mentally flipped through the recipes she was comfortable with. She tasted the ghost of each on the tip of her tongue as she passed them, wetting her lips in concentration – and a bit of hunger – before settling on something she knew she could make. Peach sorbet. It was perfect! _Everyone_ loved a good sorbet. But she wasn’t any good at magic. Bernadetta gulped. She would have to ask—

“Wah! Who made this stupid fish so _flammable_!?”

Bernadetta laughed nervously, trying to ignore the rising smoke or the kitchen staff rushing in a panic around her. This was fine. This was going to be completely fine. Just focus on the next step, then the next, then the next. She reaching into the pantry and rolled a few peaches out, focusing on slicing them just right, honing in on the steady up-down-forward of her knife. Letting habit take control. Her hands were rather good at remembering how to do the things they did often.

There. Peaches sliced. Next, the sugar reduction. She took out a measuring cup and started pouring ingredients into a pan; first water and lemon juice, then a hearty chunk of sugar. She never really knew _how_ much of each to mix – she usually just went until it felt right; or, rather, until something inside her told her anymore would definitely be way too much and would ruin everything she made and no-one would ever want to try her cooking ever again. She stopped just a bit before then.

Lighting the stove top and setting the pan to the flames, Bernadetta idly considered her sliced peaches.

Was it safe to ask now?

“Hold on, I’ve _got_ this!”

A gust of freezing air whipped past Bernadetta, pushing the smoke and heat before it and escaping out the open window. Bernadetta patiently re-lit the stove top. Maybe she’d wait a few more minutes.

“Need help with anything?”

Bernadetta spun about, relieved. The Professor was leaning over the counter, though he was looking down the length of the kitchen at whatever happenings Bernadetta was refusing to acknowledge. “Yes! Yes. I, um, need to ask Annette for help. Magical help.”

“Looks like you’re not the only one who needs help.” The Professor slipped over the countertop and tread towards Annette, hands forward, ready to defend himself if need be. Bernadetta turned back to the task at hand. See? Everything was going to be fine.

While simmering down what was going to be the sweetened stock of the dish, she groped about the top shelves for two couples of those wide-brimmed dessert glasses she _loved_ eating frozen treats out of. She also groped about the bottom shelves for the overly long spoons to pair. Soon, those spoons would be scooping smooth peachy-sweet frozen goodness straight into some lucky person’s maw. Oh, it sounded so good. Maybe the Professor could be convinced to spare _one_ serving for her?

“If they spend their whole lives in _water_, why are they so easy to light?”

The Professor returned, leading a worry-stricken Annette by the shoulder. “They’re not. That’s what makes it so impressive. But don’t worry, the staff have it handled. Could you help us cook something else instead?”

“Really? I-I mean, sure! You can count on me!” Annette said, bouncing back remarkably quickly. Bernadetta was more than a bit envious – she probably would have quit after what happened.

The Professor stopped Annette at Bernadetta’s cooking station. She looked about the prepped ingredients, tallying each one with a nod and looking upwards to piece the puzzle together. “Peach sorbet? Ooo, I _love_ that dish! Umm, how much are you making?”

“Enough for one more,” Bernadetta said, taking another dessert glass out of the top shelves. She sighed. There went her hypothetical extra serving. Oh well. Annette was bothering to help her and all, so she deserved all the peachy-sweet frozen goodness she could get.

When the sugar reduction was ready, Bernadetta poured it into a well-sized mixing bowl, which Annette began to chill with a soft blue glow from her fingertips. “Professor, wanna mash?” Bernadetta asked, sliding the peach slices into the bowl.

==========

“Wait, already?” Dorothea said through a mouthful of baklava, plastering on as genuine a surprised expression as she could.

“W-what? In the kitchen?! No!” Bernadetta protested, all but slamming her palms on the table in her haste to dissuade her of any such notion. “Dorothea, do you _really_ think the Professor and I would—?”

“Bern, Bern! I’m kidding!” Dorothea said, carefully swallowing her tea snack before it had its revenge on her. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. Please, continue.”

==========

The Professor nodded, reaching behind himself and grabbing two stirring spoons. He gave one to Bernadetta. They set their spoons on opposite ends of the bowl. With a look, a nod, and a synchronized breath in and out, Bernadetta and the Professor executed the one maneuver they could proudly say they had _perfected_ together during their time at the monastery.

Paired stirring.

In steady, circular motions, always covering some part of the bowl that the other was not, they began to mush the peach slices into the sugary, syrupy base of their concoction. Annette’s magic kept a constant freeze creeping into their mixture, small crystals of ice forming and being swallowed into the roiling sweetness around them. Annette whistled. Not at the forming dessert, but at their stirring. “That’s incredible. How do you two _do_ that?”

“It takes a lot of focus,” the Professor acknowledged. “_Focus_, Annette.”

“Wha–?” Annette seemed to remember her frost-flinging hands, which had started to drift off of the bowl and dangerously close to the Professor. “Oh, sorry Professor! I sure am glad _you’re_ here for this.”

“So am I,” the Professor said. Bernadetta nodded vigorously. She didn’t fancy spending the rest of her days with someone encased in ice. Though, he _would_ thaw out in the warm months, and wouldn’t ask her to step outside in the cold ones. Because he’d be frozen. Hmm…

“Bernie.”

Bernedetta shook her head clear of the thought. The Professor was staring. Did he know? How did he always know? “I wasn’t thinking anything weird!” she said, eyes darting to one side. “A-anyway, we’ve gotta do this for a while. So, um, anyone have anything interesting to talk about?”

“Oh, this actually reminds me of when I tried to make strawberry sorbet with Felix! It’s a little story I like to call: ‘Felix-berry Surprise.’ So, there we were—”

==========

“No,” Edelgard barked, tiredly, but firmly, making a stand.

“But it’s a really interesting story!” Dorothea said with a playful whine. “Don’t you want to know how they—?”

“Uh-uh, not a chance. You’re not getting us like _that_ again,” Caspar said, crossing his arms resolutely. “Right, Linhardt?”

“I’m actually rather interested in—”

“No you’re not!” Annette burst from her seat, waving her arms about in wild, unknowable patterns. “No, you’re not. It’s a, uh, really long and _really_ tedious story.”

“Oh. Well, in that case, perhaps we should skip it,” Linhardt concluded.

“Fine,” Dorothea said, mock-moping at everyone involved. “Well, after Annette’s _thrilling_ and _truly one-of-a-kind_ story…”

==========

“—and that’s why he won’t even _touch_ mashed strawberries.”

“Wow, that was thrilling!” Bernadetta said, genuinely thrilled. “I knew Felix had a soft side, but I never knew he had a strawberry-sweet mushy side.”

“Yeah,” the Professor said, looking thankful his existence had been graced with the knowledge of that tale. “That was a truly one-of-a-kind story.”

“Oh, stop you two. You’re making me blush.”

The three laughed as one, lives immeasurably better for having shared Annette’s story together, and—

==========

“Oh c’mon Dorothea, just tell us about it later!” Caspar snapped from his side of the table, trying, unsuccessfully, to hide how curious he was. Edelgard coughed and Linhardt shuffled his hands around. They were doing as poor a job as Caspar.

Dorothea waved him down, laughing at her triumph. “Knew you couldn’t resist. So, anyway…”

==========

“Whew!” Bernadetta loosed, rolling her stirring-arm in its socket. It was almost the Professor’s appointed meeting hour, and the sorbet looked finished. More than finished, it looked _eager_ to be munched upon. Five pairs of peach sorbet scoops sat neatly in their dessert glasses, a small mint leaf adorning each and a powdering of bean flour giving the dish texture. A thin sheen of frosty droplets still clung to their surfaces as well, giving each scoop the illusion of a freshly-washed, snow-frozen peach.

“Wow, that looks incredible!” Annette said, giving voice to Bernadetta’s feelings. “And whaddya know? My shift’s about to end! How ‘bout we dig in?”

The Professor nodded, carefully lifting the tray carrying their frozen treats. Bernadetta gave them one last mournful glance.

“So long, sweet creations of mine,” Bernadetta lamented. “Please, weep not for me, for I shall have another, someday, somehow. But, today, you _are_ another’s. Go. Make theirs a dinner worth _remembering_.”

“Bernie, one of these is for you.”

“…what?”

“One of these is for you. I was hoping you’d join us.”

Oh.

“Oh!” Bernadetta said, mouth popping open in surprise. “W-well of _course_ I’ll join you! Thank you so much, Professor.”

The Professor titled his head. “They were your idea. The thanks are all yours, Bernadetta.”

“Yeah, seriously,” Annette said, beckoning Bernadetta to the other side of the counter. When had _she_ gotten to the other side? Annette was sneakier than she looked. “Thanks a lot for getting us to whip these up together, Bernadetta. I kinda needed to prove to myself that I _could_ finish a dish today without it ending in disaster.”

Bernadetta let out a short laugh, stowing her hat and apron. She didn’t know it meant so much to Annette. Maybe she wasn’t the only one with inward-facing reservations? She followed the two to the Professor’s favorite spot in the dining hall – the table nearest the exact dead center of the room.

“So, what’s the plan?” Bernadetta pried, plopping down next to the Professor. Annette plopped down on the other side of the Professor, eyebrows raised at the mention of a plan.

“This is it.” He started setting the dessert glasses out, one in front of each of them and two in front of the empty chairs across from them.

“…what?”

“Dinner. My plan was dinner.”

“Professor, you can’t just _eat_ everyone’s problems away!” Bernadetta said, though, knowing what she did about the Professor, she wasn’t entirely sure of her own words.

“True. But…”

“But?”

“But it helps, doesn’t it?”

Bernadetta sighed. The results spoke for themselves, after all. “I guess you’re right. No, you’re probably most likely right. Alright, you’re _definitely_ right. But how do we get Lysithea to—?”

The doors to the dining hall swung open, ushering in a refreshing spring breeze alongside two figures. The first was Linhardt, looking bored, but compliant. The second was a huffing, perplexed Lysithea.

“I hardly see how the answers we seek could possibly lie in the dining hall,” she said, nevertheless peeking around Linhardt to inspect the space.

“Neither can I, Lysithea.”

“What?! Then why are we wasting our _time_ here?”

Linhardt shrugged, but offered an answer anyway. “If I had to guess, it would be for those.” He gestured at the sorbets. Lysithea’s jaw hung slack.

“Lysithea, it’s good to see you out of the library. We were just sitting down for a meal. Won’t you join us?” The Professor waved her over, smiling welcomingly. Her body pulled her one involuntary step forward, but she arrested her movement and slid her mouth closed with a hand.

“Professor, while I appreciate the gesture, I really must get back to work. Edelgard _personally_ asked me to see to this matter. She’s counting on me to get this done.”

“And you will,” the Professor pressed, “I know you will. But not if you pass away in that fortress of books you’ve erected in the library. Every living being needs food and sleep. Let’s tackle the former, then talk about the latter later.”

So _that_ was his plan. Clever. Lysithea might pass up a _real_ meal, but she’d be hard-pressed to say no when brought face-to-dessert with what they had just created. It was also an incredibly simple ploy. Just offer her sweets. Of _course_ that would work.

“Well, alright,” Lysithea said, relenting in no time at all. “I suppose low-quality work is no better than no work at all. But nobody better touch those books! They were each gathered and placed for a _very_ specific reason.”

Lysithea marched to her seat with purpose and hunger, her energetic wake towing Linhardt behind her. When they were all seated, the dining party picked up their spoons in unison, scooped a spoonful from their scoops, and plugged their mouths with its flavor. Bernadetta couldn’t stop the small, delighted noise that escaped her as the sorbet fell upon her tongue, the peach and the sugar and the icy coolness mixing together and melting apart, small rivulets of sweetened bliss dancing across her taste buds. From the echo, everybody but Linhardt was experiencing the same. Linhardt probably was, too, but couldn’t be bothered to vocalize his joy.

Bernadetta parted her lips and a frosty puff of air escaped her. Thank goodness the Professor was thoughtful enough to include her in his estimations.

“So there, Lyisthea,” Annette said, pausing her next spoonful in favor of actually acknowledging her friend. “Still workin’ hard?”

“Of course. And, judging by the magic-formed crystallization on this sorbet, you are as well. This is _absolutely_ delicious, Annette!”

“Oh stop, I can’t take all the credit. I mean, that’d be wrong. All three of us made it, but it was Bernadetta’s idea.” Annette gestured at everyone on her side of the table, but gestured more enthusiastically at Bernadetta.

“Then allow me to extend my compliments to all of you. Especially Bernadetta. Though, I suppose I should expect such culinary excellence from someone as mature as _you_.”

“W-what? I’m not _that_ mature. It was, um… the Professor! He helped. He’s way more mature.”

“Well, it’s true you do not look or act as mature as the others,” Lysithea agreed, to Bernadetta’s slight disappointment. “But you certainly are, at least by age, more mature than he.”

Bernadetta looked at the Professor, who looked back at her and shrugged. “How could _that_ be true?”

“Oh, have you not heard our theory on the Professor’s age? Linhardt and I formed it recently.” Interest peaked, everyone, including Linhardt, who finally had some stake in the conversation at hand, leaned in. Seeing that no-one was going to give her a vocal go-ahead, Lysithea prepared to continue. She snuck one last bite of her sorbet, then another, then forced her spoon down and spoke.

“According to what the Professor has told us, his mother passed sometime in eleven-fifty-nine, Goddess rest her.” Lysithea planted the handle of her spoon at the right end of the table-space that was within her – admittedly short – arm’s reach. “Not but a few days prior to that, our dear Professor was born. Now, he could have been born in the waning days of the previous year, but, for simplicity’s sake, let’s say he was born sometime in the same year.” Lyisthea placed a napkin under her spoon, then let it drop length-wise on the table. She placed her finger at the right tip of the spoon. “The earliest he could have been born is the first day of Guardian Moon. The latest,” she said, placing another finger at the left end of the spoon, “is the thirty-first day of Ethereal Moon.”

“But the Professor _has_ a birthday,” Bernadetta said. She was sure of it. Wasn’t she?

“The Professor has a… day of celebration,” Lysithea said delicately, eyeing the Professor as she spoke, “the veracity of which is… subject to scrutiny.”

“What Lysithea is trying to say,” Linhardt butted in much less delicately, “is that, with what little the Professor actually knows of himself, we can’t be certain that the day on which we celebrate his birth is the day he was actually born. For all we know, he and his father simply picked a date and started celebrating on it.”

“What? There’s no _way_,” Annette said, throwing an elbow towards the Professor. “I mean, that’d be silly. Right, Professor?”

The Professor coughed. “Well…”

“Anyway,” Lysithea said, plowing through the discomfort of the moment, “the Professor arrived at the academy at the end of Great Tree Moon, eleven-eighty.” She moved the spoon, and its napkin, to the center of the table, then planted a finger at the right end of the spoon again. “So, the _youngest_ he could have been when he started teaching—”

“Is twenty!” Annette piped up. “If he were born at the end of the year. Making the _oldest_, if he were born at the start of the year, twenty-one, right?”

“That’s correct, Annette,” Lysithea said, returning Annette’s excited grin with a satisfied smile of her own. “Of course, I would expect no less from someone of _your_ caliber.”

“But that still makes him at least three years older than me when _I_ started at the academy,” Bernadetta said, contrasting their smiles with a small, confused frown.

“Ah, but this is where the theory gets interesting,” Linhardt said, placing his finger at the left end of Lysithea’s spoon. “We stormed Garreg Mach in the first weeks of Great Tree Moon, eleven-eighty-one. That’s also when the Professor entered his long slumber. That means he taught at the academy for about two weeks shy of one full year.”

Bernadetta nodded, but her frown deepened. The day still held many a sour thing for her. Mostly regret. “So, by the time he went to sleep, he was either twenty-one or twenty-two?”

“Indeed, Bernadetta,” Linhardt confirmed, placing his own spoon, on his own napkin, to the left of Lyisthea’s. “He slept from Great Tree Moon, eleven-eighty-one,” he said, placing a finger on the right end of his spoon, “until he re-appeared in the monastery at the start of Ethereal Moon, eleven-eighty-five.” Linhardt placed another finger on the left end of his spoon. Lifting his fingers, but keeping the spoon-length between them, he looked at Bernadetta through the gap. “Four years and eight months. What I wouldn’t _give_ for so grand a nap.”

“I would’ve gladly lent you some of mine,” the Professor said, grinning wryly at Linhardt, “but I doubt it would’ve helped you work any harder.” The whole table joined in a mouth-covered, dinner-appropriate chortle. But Bernadetta saw what no-one else at the table was looking for. The small flash of emotion that crossed the Professor’s eyes, flicking his gaze back and forth, pulling the corners of his lids taut _just_ so. But what emotion? She would have to decode it later.

“You joke, Professor, but one day I shall take you up on that offer. In any case, a philosophical question. Were any of you to cease consciousness for four years and eight months, would you consider that living? When awareness returned to you, would you consider yourself any different from when last it graced you?”

“Oh, I get it,” Annette said. “But what about physically? _Some_ of us grew a ton between then and now.” She looked pointedly at Bernadetta, who shrunk into her seat. That wasn’t her fault, was it? Oh no.

“Indeed,” Lysithea said, looking with Annette. Bernadetta shrunk further, hoping to retreat down to their height and deflect their scrutiny. “But the Professor hadn’t changed at all _physically_, either. No hair or nail growth, same height, width, and weight – truly, for the Professor, it was as though time simply… stopped.”

The Professor _had_ been rather disoriented when he returned. It would make sense – when he closed his eyes they were at the end of their school year, and when he opened them they were half a decade into a continent-wide war. Four years and eight months, gone in a blink. Bernadetta felt a bit out of it just imagining a blink like that. “So you’re saying he’s still twenty-one or twenty-two?”

“Precisely. Though that was six months ago now,” Lysithea said, holding her fingers half a spoon’s length apart in the air. “Only the Professor could end a five-year stalemate in a tenth of the time.”

“Those six months are the last piece of our puzzle.” Linhardt placed his finger-span next to Lysithea’s in the air. “Whether the Professor is truly twenty-one, twenty-two, or twenty-three years of age depends on how much time elapsed between his last birthday, when he was still a teacher, and the start of his wonderfully long nap. Were it less than six months,” Linhardt said, drawing his fingers closer together so his and Lysithea’s, combined, spanned less than one spoon, “then he is either twenty-one or twenty-two years old. Were it more than six months,” he said, drawing his fingers farther again to make his and Lysithea’s combined finger span greater than one spoon, “then he is either twenty-two or twenty-three years old.”

Bernadetta followed along, brow furrowed in concentration as she counted in her head. It made sense, including the Professor’s philosophical four-year-and-eight-month stasis. But that would mean…

“And how old are you, Bernadetta?” Lysithea asked, grinning like, whatever the answer, she already knew she was right.

“I’m twenty-three ‘till Ethereal Moon. When my birthday is. You know.” Maybe they didn’t know. That was okay, too.

“Precisely. You have lived twenty-three and a half years of your life while the Professor has lived between twenty-one and, _barely_, twenty-three years of his, making you, at most, two years his senior. Thus my observation on your maturity.”

“B-but that’s just half a year or two. Or three. Is that really all that much?”

“It is to some people,” Lysithea shot back, not bristling but, at least momentarily, certainly agitated. “Moreover, _that_ means the Professor and I are almost the same age,” Lysithea concluded triumphantly. “Hypothetically.”

Wry grin still in place, the Professor crossed his arms and leaned back into his chair. “I’m impressed. I was never that concerned with not knowing, but you’ve put more thought into my age in a week than I have my whole life.”

“Professor, shouldn’t you be the one _most_ concerned with that?” Annette asked, digging idly at her frozen treat.

The Professor shrugged. “Knowing or not knowing didn’t change how well I taught or led, did it?”

“When you’re right, you’re right,” Annette said, shrugging as well. “But hold on. When’d you and Linhardt have time to puzzle all that out, Lysithea? I thought you were working on that Golem thing.”

“I am!” Lysithea said, jumping to assure everyone. “Linhardt and I figured it out in the library between working. As we have _both_ learned from the Professor, Annette, regular breaks are an essential part of a healthy work-flow. Which, Professor, is… why you coaxed me here. Oh.”

The Professor smiled that kind little victory smile of his, the one that made Bernadetta feel like everything had, or was going to, work out. “Regular breaks, food, and _sleep_, Lysithea. Your work will still be there when you wake up. You might even have an easier time doing it. I’m sure Edelgard doesn’t want you to force yourself through all of this toil without regard to your own well-being.”

“You’re right, Professor – about the breaks and food and sleep thing, at least. I’m sorry to have made you worry. But I’m not _forcing_ myself to do anything. The Golems truly do interest me. Do you imagine I’d put so much into something that didn’t pique my curiosity?”

“Knowing you? Yes,” the Professor said, “but I believe you. Tell you what. How about I help you haul up those old remnants from the Sealed Forest?”

“Right now?” Lyisthea said, almost dropping a spoonful of sorbet.

“Tomorrow. After a good night’s rest.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“Is that a no?”

“That’s _not_ what I said.” Lysithea hastened her next spoonful into her mouth, and her next, and her next. The rest of her dining companions, however, savored their delectable dish.

As the light of day settled beyond the horizon, any serious talk gave way to the idle flow of conversation, which itself settled into lazy streams of banter. Soon, there was only the flicker of candlelight to show them what was where, the flickering conversations around them bouncing to and fro about the walls of the dining hall with just as much freeform, dancing carelessness. It was warm. It was homely. And, far too soon, it was over.

Dishes empty of all but sweet memories, Bernadetta and the Professor waved their friends goodnight, doubting that any of their nights were over but assured that they’d see them, well-rested, in the morning. The Professor stood and offered Bernadetta his hand. Bernadetta stood, then accepted it.

Life in a relationship with the Professor had, thus far, continued much like life before. They would talk, share meals, have tea, do work, relax together, and, generally, do everything that two close friends would do.

But, occasionally, they would do more. A touch here, a glance there, a kiss when no-one was around – the hints of a budding passion tinged their days and their nights. It was all so new to Bernadetta. Exciting. She’d hardly had contact with other people before, no less contact of _that_ nature. So, whenever she and the Professor held hands like that, it still sent a small tingle through her, up through her fingertips, warming into her palms, jolting a line through her arm, shivering up her neck and straight to her head, where she couldn’t help but feel happy. Happy, with a small promise of something more, like she was thumbing the corner of a page she hadn’t yet finished reading.

They’d created, and settled into, an evening ritual for the sole purpose of holding hands. After finishing up in the dining hall, they would walk the grounds, talking about nothing. Some days they had a path in mind, like visiting a certain spot under the bridge or passing by all the garden plots at the monastery. Tonight, however, like many other nights, they simply wandered. Here and then there. There and then back. It didn’t matter where they went. What mattered was that they went there hand-in-hand, exchanging thoughts and exchanging company.

It was also the time when Bernadetta tried those little things she remembered from her books, the ones she never got to try but that everyone else was always tittering on about.

_Especially_ Dorothea.

==========

“Hey, that’s not fair!”

“Eep!”

With nothing but a low tea table between them and cushions all around them, Bernadetta hid behind whatever was in her hand, replacing her head, from Dorothea’s point of view, with a piece of baklava. It certainly wasn’t the _most_ outlandish thing Dorothea had seen at Gondola Brews, but it certainly wasn’t the _least_. Dorothea let out a small chuckle in disbelief.

“Okay, maybe it’s a bit fair. But I don’t talk about it _that_ much, right?”

==========

“_Right_?”

Dorothea glared around the dining table, daring anyone to say otherwise. Caspar took the bait.

He coughed.

“Well,” he began, stretching the ‘l’ on the tips of his teeth.

“I don’t want to hear it coming from _you_,” Dorothea hissed, pointing accusingly. “We _both_ drank for that army question.”

Caspar coughed again, dropping the subject.

“Okay. Now that we’re all in agreement that I, in fact, do _not_ talk about it that much—”

==========

Things like locking arms, staring deep into the Professor’s eyes, rubbing their noses together, blowing gently across his ear – the last one being something the Professor actually might have enjoyed.

Tonight, through their interlaced fingers, Bernadetta was brushing the back of his hand with her thumb. It was a gesture that, she hoped, was unobtrusive while maintaining that background intimacy that small gestures had. When it happened in the _particular_ book she’d picked it up from, it led to many more wonderful things. Not that that was her intent. Nope. Just some innocent thumb-brushing.

Okay, holding hands wasn’t the _sole_ purpose of their walks. Bernadetta walked them through the gardens northwest of the dining hall, careful to watch where they were wandering. Though the Professor might not, she _did_ have a destination in mind.

“So, um, what was that Golem business about?” Bernadetta broached, subtly leading them the right way with little tugs of her hand. “If you can tell me, that is. I totally get it if it’s something you can’t tell me.”

“Oh, no, I can tell you. Edelgard wanted Lysithea to look into the Golems used by the church.” The Professor had started brushing Bernadetta’s hand back with his own thumb. Yes! Wait, maybe he was just idly mirroring her. Keep it cool, Bernie. Keep it cool.

“So what was that about the Sealed Forest? Unless… no. Those _statues_?”

“Yeah.”

“The ones that are supposed to be hundreds of years old? Over a _thousand_, even?”

The Professor nodded. “They’re an awful lot like the church’s Golems, aren’t they?” He opened a gate for them, and Bernadetta pulled them through. They were right in front of the dormitories. She tugged them along, trying to keep calm, ignoring her quickening pulse. Could he feel it through their palms? She sure hoped he couldn’t.

“I never thought about them that way. So, um, you’ll be busy tomorrow? In the morning?”

“Yeah. Sorry, Bernie.”

“N-no, that’s okay! I just, uh… well, there’s some stuff I wanted to do. With you. So… better do it tonight then, right?” Bernadetta laughed nervously. She could _feel_ how transparent she was. Then again, she could be talking about anything. Maybe the Professor wouldn’t assume?

“Oh? What kind of stuff?”

Bernadetta scrutinized his face. Head titled. Hand on chin. He really didn’t know! Bernadetta stopped them. They were in front of her room. “Just some… stuff. Um. Come on in!”

She nudged her door open with a foot. She’d left it ajar in case both of her hands were involved with something when they got there, but it didn’t come to that. She’d settled for the less obtrusive thumb thing instead. Swinging the Professor inside with the force of her nervous energy, she let go, almost launching him into her room, and nudged her door closed with the same foot.

None of the candles were lit, making navigation hazardous. Hazardous for anyone but Bernadetta and the Professor, who had both spent enough time in her room to know where to step and where not to step. Thankfully, the moon was also at _just_ the right angle to tilt in through her windows, alighting on the bed, spreading through a safe path across her floor. It bounced, randomly, off of reflective clutter strewn about, picking up a palette of colors and giving the darkened walls and ceilings the impression of a gem-studded cavern.

Bernadetta never knew how best to navigate the point they were about to pass; the proper way to cross over from a pleasant walk in the garden to the things they experimented with in the privacy of their rooms. She’d _read_ of a hundred good ways, ways filled with flowery language and coy glances, gentle finger-tip brushes and passion-filled exaltations of endless, virtuous, chivalric love.

But Bernadetta didn’t know how to do any of that stuff well. Her default was something else.

“So, umm… wanna make out?”

The Professor did that half-laugh of his, beginning a retort that was probably dripping with his signature quick-witted wryness. It didn’t get far past his lips, though, which were suddenly occupied by Bernadetta’s own. She had learned that if she didn’t follow up quickly, she would lose all her nerve and they’d never get anywhere. She’d spent one too many awkward nights with the Professor like that. It was much better to just grab his face and get it over with. Or, rather, get it started with.

Not that her haste meant she didn’t enjoy it. Oh, she _enjoyed_ it.

But Bernadetta had never really understood the appeal of a kiss. Sure, it was warm. It involved connecting parts of two people’s bodies that normally never touched one another. Her lips _were_ really sensitive, too; assumedly, so were the Professor’s. But that was it. It wasn’t particularly physically pleasurable or anything. So why did it make her _feel_ that way?

Bernadetta pulled back, lips tingling, breathing in the lingering warmth. She could feel it; her cheeks were flushed. Luckily they were – mostly – in the dark. Maybe the Professor had an answer? He _was_ a professor, after all. She angled his face so they were looking straight at each other. His eyes. She loved those eyes. But they had that strange pull in the corners again, flitting back and forth ever slightly. What did it mean? She was too distracted to puzzle it out properly.

“Why’s kissing so fun?”

The Professor half-laughed again, shaking his head. “I don’t know. But I can guess. Hm. Everyone knows what a kiss is, and what it means. In Fódlan, it’s culturally understood as a deeply intimate gesture. So, when we, denizens of that culture, share one, we can’t help but feel deeply intimate with one another. Besides that, it’s a privileged thing. You choose very few people to perform the act with, making the choice, itself, meaningful. Similarly, the physical sensation isn’t something you experience often. Pair that with the fact that the other person is experiencing the same, and you get something you _both_ actively engage in that feels both rare and sympathetic.”

“So the thing that makes it special is the person you’re sharing it with?”

“That’s what I think. And you _definitely_ make it special.”

The Professor gave her waist a small squeeze. She giggled. When had he sneaked his arms around her? “Wow. You know, I didn’t really expect you to have an answer. But it _is_ you, so I guess I should have expected you to be unexpected like that.”

“Thanks. I think. I had a very similar question, so I spoke about it with Manuela last week over lunch.”

There he went again, meal-ing his way to another victory. “So you asked another professor about it? That explains the thoroughness.”

“I didn’t know, so I asked. Isn’t that what you just did?”

Bernadetta hummed in affirmation, leaning heavily against the Professor. Luckily for her, though he still sported his coat daily, he didn’t wear his armor around everywhere anymore. It made him much softer to press against. Wait. Her plan. She still had the rest of her plan to enact.

For a moment, the Professor just stood there, supporting her. Then, she gave him the slightest of pushes to make her intentions clear. The Professor took several steps back, stopping only when he physically had to. Bernadetta heard the clunk of his boots against her bed’s frame.

Perfect. He was in _just_ the right spot. Now she had to… oh. Oh, she wasn’t ready. Bernadetta paused, staring straight at the Professor, meeting his patient expression with her infinitely unsure one. He gave her the smallest of smiles, and oh… oh his eyes. Her heart melted. That look. It was the one he saved just for her, just for moments like these, moments when she was giving herself so much trouble. So patient. So kind. Whatever they did, Bernadetta knew she’d be safe doing it. She wanted to do it. She _wanted_ to. She had fantasized about it every day, every night since he had given her that lovely ring. Maybe even before, not that she would ever admit it. But now that they were there, her plan in the very midst of unfolding, it was like…

Like another line. Another point she didn’t know how to cross. Their kiss, now fading into recent memory, still bore its effects on her. Now, bolstered by night after day after night of fantasy and anticipation, she felt it even more acutely. More widely. Tingling through her whole body, warmth blooming from more than just her lips, flush, once moderate, now a beet-red heat in her cheeks. And her breathing. Was breathing always this hard? Did she always have that tension in her stomach? Lower?

Bernadetta rubbed her knees together. She was safe with him. She wanted this. She just… it was just like with the kiss. She had to push through, maintain the initiative, or she would never get over herself. What they had done was what Bernadetta considered ‘stage one’ kissing. For ‘stage two,’ they had to be sitting or lying down. Otherwise, as Bernadetta had learned, she’d have nothing to fall back on if – okay, _when_ – her legs gave way. Literally falling away from your partner was _not_ the most graceful way to break a kiss. Not that it had happened before. She had _totally_ tripped backwards intentionally that one time.

This time, she tripped forwards. Bernadetta had intended to slide her hands down from the Professor’s face and push gently on his shoulders until they were both sitting on the bed. Instead, with a surprised “eek!”, Bernadetta fell onto the Professor, slammed her hands down onto his shoulder blades, and forced him to sit, with her above him, lest his knees break under their combined weight.

But Bernadetta couldn’t bring herself to commit to the straddle. She had intended to be brave tonight, to be bold and do what she’d read and heard about a hundred times before. But she couldn’t. It was too much. What if she was being too pushy? What if she was coming off as too eager, uncontrolled? Once certain parts of her touched certain parts of him, even through their clothes, that next line would be crossed. She settled for kneeling next to him on the bed, arms still around the Professor but nearly side-by-side with him.

It wasn’t the most natural position. Bernadetta decided to make the most of it. She had almost skipped an important part of her plan.

“Byleth,” she whispered, the address still strange upon her lips. It tasted unfamiliar on the tip of her tongue, like she was stealing it from a life not her own. But the more she used it, the more intimate it felt. She smiled, and he smiled; they both liked it. So simple a thing to draw them together. “I made you something. I, um, w-well… here.”

Bernadetta gave up and snatched something from her bedside drawer, pressing it into the Professor’s grasp.

“Is this…?”

“Yeah. I… well, it’s called Garland Moon for a reason. So, I did the thing with the white roses and, um, made you one. You’re supposed to give them to… t-to potential lovers.” Her words petered out, from a whisper to a faint breath. This was stupid. He probably thought it was stupid. There was no way he’d go for something like that. She should take it back. Yeah! Just call it a joke and—

“How’s it look?”

Bernadetta snapped to attention. Adorning the top of the Professor’s head, sitting delicately over his locks, Bernadetta’s garland posed in the moonlight, white petals reflecting even whiter under the gaze of the moon and stems blending into the dark green of his hair. She giggled, delicately lifting it from his head and placing it back into his grasp. “Well, don’t wear it _now_. It already means a lot that you accepted it. Thanks, Byleth.” The Professor smiled at the address again, placing the garland back on her drawer.

Doubt and reassurance. Worry and acceptance. It was always that way between Bernadetta and the Professor. The up and down, the back and forth. Her, forth and down; him, back and up. What was she even worried about? Lots. Lots of things. But he would always bring her back. He would always lift her up.

She loved him for it.

Bernadetta leaned her weight into the Professor again, pushing her arms forth, sending them both down. With a ruffle of sheets and the creak of well-used bedframe, they collapsed side-by-side onto her bed. She couldn’t commit to the straddle, but she _could_ commit to the cuddle.

Now then. Stage two kissing. Yes, that was next. Just focus on the next step, then the next, then the next. “You know, I should be better at this,” Bernadetta said, stalling for time while she gathered her courage. Unlike her innocent thumb-brushing, stage two kissing could _definitely_ lead to other, more wonderful things.

“Why’s that?” the Professor asked, securing his arms around her waist again. “As someone with absolutely no experience, I think you’re pretty good.”

Bernadetta half-scoffed, half-laughed, securing her own grip around his shoulders. “Well, according to the brightest minds at Garreg Mach, I’m supposed to be more mature than you.”

“Oh, right. That.”

“Exactly. That. While you were sleeping for four years and eight months, I was supposed to be living and growing up. Though I guess five years of war doesn’t give much opportunity to flex the old romance muscles. I’m just scared I’m being absolutely lousy at it.”

“You shouldn’t be,” the Professor assured. But his eyes. Flitting. Taut. That same look. What did it mean? “Everyone’s scared of something. Most of the time it’s… nothing. Right?”

He didn’t sound so sure. Bernadetta tilted her head, letting the moon slip past her and onto the Professor. “Even you? _Is_ there anything you’re afraid of?”

“Losing. And winning the wrong way.”

Bernadetta paused. That… didn’t sound like playful bedroom banter. No. Something was wrong. Why hadn’t she noticed before?

The whole night, she had been preoccupied with her plan. Reigning in her misgivings. Getting caught up in her emotions. Exploring the physical sensations rushing through her body. But love wasn’t something experienced alone. It was nothing without the other person involved. She had failed to – no, she hadn’t even really _tried_ to think of how the Professor felt. The way he let her lead him, through the gardens, through her room, onto her bed. The lack of physical reaction to match Bernadetta’s. And that look in his eyes. The Professor was hard to read, but she hadn’t even really tried.

Bernadetta leaned closer, looking – _really_ looking, letting the moonlight brush his features free from the dimness around them. His eyes. She had seen them like that before. She was sure. She eased herself into those troubled blue pools, letting them whisk her past a dozen dozen Byleths. She saw it in a flash of faces: soot-stained disbelief against the blaze of a village; rain, dripping down, stealing tears before a chapel; sweat-soaked, caked in wasteland mud, frozen mid-battle before the crumpled forms of a king and his vassal. Mouthing apologies to a fallen father, watering against a capitol’s worth of smoke and ash, barking hopelessly at a hero as she tried to flee across a bridge. Greeting his students after leaving them on their own for four years and eight months.

And, in every flash, his eyes. Pulled taut by the weight of their own scrutiny. Ever searching, ever plying the possibilities, wondering if there was a better way. Searching, darting back and forth. Back and forth. Back again.

Just like they were now.

What did he see in the flecks of moonlight across her ceiling? What did he face, time and again, with that face that faced it all? She shuddered to think of it. No, it wasn’t her shuddering. It was Byleth, clutching at the sheets. Clutching at her.

Bernadetta sighed, frustrated. Ashamed. Her plan entirely forgotten. She rubbed her knees together, urging the tension away. This wasn’t what he needed right now. But what _did_ he need?

“Byleth, I—”

Bernadetta swallowed, closing her lids against the tears. She looked away. She shouldn’t be the one crying. Oh, why would her tear ducts rebel against her at a time like this? What should she say? She had to think of something. But…

But what if she said the wrong thing? What if she made things worse? What if she didn’t understand at all, _couldn’t_ understand, and just came off as annoying? Clueless? Obtrusive? She couldn’t. She _had_ to, but she couldn’t, but she—

“—I don’t know what to say.”

No. That couldn’t have been right. That wasn’t what he needed. She dared a glance back at his face. His eyes were closed. He was breathing, slowly. Calmly. Of course. Someone like him? It was obvious that he’d learned to live with such feelings. But, then again, Bernadetta had learned to ‘live’ with her own feelings before meeting the Professor. The Professor had helped her with hers. But she?

She had done nothing for him.

==========

Bernadetta pushed her breakfast around glumly. She loved sunny-side up. Not that it could love her back. For the second morning in a row, her eggs were as droopy as she was. Yesterday had supposed to be special. She had made an especially fine mess of it.

Last night had stopped at cuddling. They had both drifted off to sleep soon after Bernadetta’s plans fell apart. Another awkward night courtesy of Bernadetta’s own bumblings. In the morning, the Professor had coaxed her awake to let her know he was leaving to do some work. She had covered her head with a pillow and mumbled some half-intelligible hybrid between an apology and an “I love you.” When she woke up again – for real – it was much later in the morning. She had stumbled to the dining hall to eat her troubles away.

But she couldn’t keep moping. Well, she could. But if she was going to mope, she was going to mope while trying to fix things. If she’d learned anything from Annette, making a huge mess of things didn’t mean that she couldn’t try to do _something_ right.

On her stumble to the dining hall, she happened to pass by the training grounds. Someone astute might have observed that the training grounds were nowhere on the path between her room and the dining hall. How had she gotten there? That morning, that ‘someone astute’ was _not_ Bernadetta. But while passing by the training grounds to loop back around and actually go to the dining hall, she had decided to employ one of the Professor’s most successful tactics.

She invited people to eat with her.

Those very same people were, just now, returning from the counter with their own meals. Bernadetta straightened herself, forcing the droops out of her face. Just be normal. Please, let her be normal.

“Ber-na-detta!” Alois boomed, setting his breakfast down next to her with a loud clatter of plates and cutlery. His face glowed red with exertion not too long past. Not that it did anything to damper his energy. “So kind of you to invite us to dine with you. This is looking to be a truly _egg_-celent meal!”

“Heya, Alois,” Bernadetta said, much more subdued than she usually was in his presence, but smiling anyway. Alois always could put a smile on her face, no matter the circumstance. That was part of what made him Alois.

“Yeah, that’s pretty unlike you. Not that I’m complaining. Food’s better with company.” Leonie sat down across from Bernadetta, the flush of exertion and the glean of sweat adorning her features as well. She grinned confidently at her plate of food. She had been sure to get more than Alois.

“Looks like the Professor’s rubbing off on you.” Shamir appeared in the chair across from Alois. If she had just been exerting herself, there was absolutely no outward indication. Bernadetta jumped in her chair. Shamir raised an eyebrow.

“Shamir, people might take stuff like that the wrong way,” Leonie warned, herself having barely reacted to Shamir’s appearance.

“Let them,” Shamir declared, deftly peeling the hard-boiled egg on her plate. “I’ve got better things to do than worry about how every word I utter _might_ be taken.”

Leonie shrugged, which turned into a nod. “Fair.” She went about forking at her own meal.

Bernadetta fidgeted with her napkin. How did the Professor go about this? First, small talk. “So, um, what were you three doing at the training grounds?”

“Training,” Shamir said, assassinating her small talk attempt. Bernadetta mentally kicked herself. What _else_ would a person do at the training grounds?

“Indeed. We do our morning training there every day!” Alois said, bravely reviving the small talk. “It’s an _excellent_ way to get an active start. Would you care to join us?”

“Hey, yeah. That’s a great idea! What with all the time you spend with the Professor, you _must_ have picked up some of Captain Jeralt’s techniques, right?” Leonie leaned across the table, eyes shining. How could she stay so passionate about a single thing for so long?

“Oh, that’s real nice of you to offer,” Bernadetta said, “but I’m busy most mornings.” Busy being asleep. “I just happened to be free for this one, so, you know…” Bernadetta trailed off, looking at Leonie’s plate, then at Alois’s. No way. “You _both_ do the fork thing?”

Alois stopped. He looked down at his fork, mid egg-tumble, then at Leonie, who was still tumbling hers. “Well, I guess we _do_ both do that, huh? Let me guess, the Professor does it too?”

“Y-yeah! How’d you know?”

Leonie barked a short, one “hah!” laugh. “Of course he does. Captain Jeralt used to do this _all_ the time. I must have picked it up along with the rest of his training!”

Bernadetta grinned. All of Jeralt’s charges – they were so like the Professor. “I guess the egg doesn’t fall far from the coop, huh?” she said, shamelessly re-using last morning’s joke. Leonie trapped a laugh in her cheeks, just as Bernadetta had last morning. Alois let his roil out over the table, and over its inhabitants, and over the rest of the entire dining hall, and, likely, over most of the space directly adjacent the dining hall outside. Shamir shook her head, but the corners of her mouth tugged upwards. She was a lot like the Professor in her own way, too.

The table fell to idle chatter. Only Alois seemed to notice Bernadetta’s continued fidgeting. He finished the latest entry he was covertly writing in his joke book, then turned to address her.

“So, Bernadetta. Was there something you wanted to talk about?”

“What? How could you tell, Alois?”

“Well, it’s like Leonie said! This is pretty unlike you. And, like Leonie said, I’m not complaining about it at all. Whatever’s troubling you, your old pal Alois – and _his_ pals, too – are more than happy to help! So let’s hear it.”

Bernadetta touched a hand to her heart. Oh, Alois. She sure was glad she had run into him this morning. “It’s… well, it’s kinda hard to talk about. It’s also kinda for all three of you. And me, I guess. Um. Do you… have any regrets? From the war?”

Alois and Leonie’s egg-tumbling stopped.

Shamir frowned at Bernadetta. “Are you asking if I regret fighting old friends and colleagues, or if I regret the people I’ve killed.”

“I’m sorry! I know. It’s not a nice thing to talk about. I just… the Professor, I—”

“If you brought it up, Bernadetta, then you _must_ have had a good reason to do so,” Alois said, looking supportive despite the tilt in his brows. He was _way_ easier to read than the Professor. “Don’t worry. I’ll answer. In truth, there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of the lives I’ve ended. The corpses I’ve piled… truly, it is a monstrous thing. Not that I regret _why_ I did it,” Alois said quickly, the sorrow in his tone and his natural buoyant energy combating each other across his expression. “It was for a good cause. I just wish I had more worth than just my skill in battle to serve said cause.”

Shamir sighed. “You always were too soft to be a knight. Not that I hate that about you,” she continued, lifting Alois’s downcast gaze. “You’re a lousy knight because you’re a good person. As for me, I usually don’t bother thinking about the dead. Won’t help me, and it won’t help them. The only time for regret is after the battle’s won. And even then, I hold it more for the people I’ve failed than for the ones I’ve faced.”

Leonie was back to tumbling her eggs, eyes wide as she soaked in the others’ answers. “Usually I don’t give it a second thought,” she said. “Honestly, for all the time we’ve spent together, us three’ve never really talked about stuff like this. But, it’s never easy to meet a friend on the wrong side of a battlefield. I know, as a mercenary, that lack of a second thought should extend to _anyone_ I might face. But I’ll never get over that feeling. Neither that, nor the memory of it.”

Bernadetta let their answers turn and tumble together in her head. Those three really _were_ like the Professor. When she heard them, all three of them, it was like walking around the Professor, looking at him, hearing him from one side at a time.

“And what about you, Bernadetta?” Leonie asked, tone eager and curious.

What? “M-me?” Well, they _had_ all shared. It was only fair that she did, too. “At first, no matter _who_ it was, I absolutely _hated_ fighting. The thought of it made me want to curl up and roll away back to my room forever. But, when it was someone bad, or someone trying to hurt the people I cared about, or someone my friends were all risking their lives against, there wasn’t time to hold back. You’ve gotta help in situations like those, right? During the war, I kinda got used to it. It was war. But I’d be lying if I said that taking a life didn’t sting just like the first time. Just, you know, a way way _way_ dulled version.”

There were other things she regretted, too. Her own incompetence. Her weakness when it mattered. She gripped her fork tightly. Not helping the Professor out of the Immaculate One’s blast. Not being there to save him from the trap in the Sealed Forest. Not saying _anything_ last night.

“Huh. You know, I think the Professor made a pretty good choice,” Shamir said, sporting a small smirk.

“W-what? What does _that_ mean?” Bernadetta pressed into the back of her chair defensively.

“I mean you’re a lot like him, in your own way. The things you bring out in people…”

Leonie nodded. “When you mention it, this _does_ kinda feel like those talks we have when the Professor’s around, doesn’t it?”

“Why, you’re absolutely right, Leonie!” Alois said, giant grin winning over the rest of what he might have been feeling. “I knew this was going to be an _egg_-celent breakfast.”

Everyone at the table groaned, random jeers of “boo” and “same joke” flinging playfully over their breakfast. Even Bernadetta joined in, though it had still made her laugh.

She felt better. Still mopey, but determined to do _something_.

==========

Bernadetta held her head in her hands. Her candle was burning low. She’d have to replace it soon, but couldn’t muster enough care to do so.

Writing it down was supposed to be easier. She usually had a _great_ time writing, scribbling away on sheet after sheet as she let her ideas flow into words that no-one ever had to read ever again. This, however, was neither great nor easy.

In all those books she read, people usually started and abandoned and crumpled up sheet after sheet of paper when they were at a romantically appropriate loss for written words. But she liked her paper. Instead of crumpling a bunch of pieces of paper up, Bernadetta elected to write and cross out a hundred different lines a hundred different times in a hundred different orientations on both sides of the same sheet of paper. If anyone saw what she had made, they would, for sure, think she was crazy.

Maybe she was. Just a bit. Oh, this wasn’t working at all. She spun her sheet about and started a new line.

_Professor_—

She crossed it out immediately.

_Byleth. I know you’re totally troubled about something and stuff and I don’t really know how to say anything so that’s why I’m writing it down and this is leading nowhere nice going Bernie okay bye._

She crossed the rest out. Ugh. She let her head drop to her desk. Maybe a nap? Seemed to help Linhardt get through _his_ start-and-stop projects.

A noise. Bernadetta jolted upright. At this hour? Wait, what hour was it? How long had she been cooped up doing this?

The same noise again. Someone was knocking. No, not just someone. It was a very familiar knock, and she didn’t have to look to know who was in front of her door. Bernadetta tip-toed to the door, turning the knob like it was made of paper and easing the door backwards, just a crack. She wanted to look anyway.

It was the Professor, hand raised, about to knock again. He froze when he saw the door edge open. That same look in his eyes, the one from last night. Oh no. She wasn’t ready.

“Hey, Bernie. Can I come in?”

Could she stall for more time? There had to be a way to—

No. No shutting him out.

“Y-yeah. Yeah! Why wouldn’t you be able to come in? Haha! Hah…”

Bernadetta pulled the door open until the crack was Professor-sized. He sidled his way through the threshold, helping her close the door behind him. Wait. What was that on his head? The Professor followed her eyes, patting his head and carefully untangling the garland from his hair.

“You said last night wasn’t the time to wear it, so I tried it today. Got a lot of funny looks. If the whole Moon is named after them, why would people be surprised to see someone with a garland?”

Bernadetta laughed, her nervousness melting away. How did he do it? How did he always manage to lift the things that clung to her when she was alone? “Well, people typically don’t wear them around. You didn’t have that on the whole day, did you?”

“Yes. It actually fit quite snugly once I got the stems twirled up in my hair.” He passed the garland around in his hands, rotating it idly. He was fiddling. He was fiddling? If something was wrong, there was no _way_ Bernadetta was going to let it slip again.

“Are you alright? You can, um, tell me you know. You probably already knew that. But… yeah. _Are_ you alright?”

“Yes. No. It’s – well, it’s not me I’m worried about. Except that my behavior was…” The Professor trailed off, sitting down on Bernadetta’s bed. He placed the garland on her drawer. “I don’t deserve this. Last night, you were trying so hard and – and just because I… just because I felt a bit out of it, I let you down. I must have.”

Bernadetta took a seat next to him, within hand’s reach. He was hesitant. She almost never saw him like that, except when he felt he could be. “Wait, are you trying to apologize to _me_? N-no, don’t do that! That’s not right. Not when _I_ should be apologizing to _you_.”

“But, last night. Your eyes.”

Her eyes?

“…you were crying.”

Bernadetta started to laugh, but clamped her mouth shut before it continued. It wasn’t joy that fueled her outburst. It was disbelief. “No, that wasn’t – that was just a little tear duct rebellion. _I_ was fine. But you… you weren’t. You weren’t for a while. Not at the end of dinner, not for our whole walk, not during ‘stage one,’ not when I was throwing myself at you on the bed. And I was so caught up with everything about _me_ that I didn’t even notice. You were right in front of me, and I didn’t even _try_.” Bernadetta fingered the garland, playing with a petal, rotating it this way and that. “You _do_ deserve this. But I didn’t deserve to give it to you.”

They both sat in silence, watching the candle steadily burn lower. It was sputtering, the last of the wick bringing the flame closer to the waxy puddle in its stand. Bernadetta felt the Professor’s hand upon hers. That same tingle, that same warmth, that jolt and that shiver straight to her head. That small promise. Thumbing the corner of the page.

She tugged at his far shoulder, this time urging him down gently. He agreed. Good. They both collapsed onto her bed, facing one another. Now, she could give him what he needed.

Bernadetta slipped an arm over his shoulder, threaded the other through the space between his neck and the sheets, and pulled him into a slow hug. He joined her, his arms warmly enclosing her, until they were nearly flush together – though Bernadetta tactfully kept from pressing her waist too close against his leg. She felt a soft breeze tickle across her ear. A breathy sigh, relaxing out from somewhere knotted tight. She shuddered a bit – this time really her – but swallowed her urges down.

“Byleth,” she whispered. “Byleth.” It felt better each time she used it. “There’s a lot for you regret.” She answered his raised brow by pushing forward with her thought. “No, I mean – I-it’s… easy to tell. At least for me, I guess, what with the way you look right now. Everyone always says to live your life without regret. I never really saw the point in that. I-I mean, can anyone really say they regret _nothing_? I know, I bet you can name one or two people. But regret comes from knowing you did something wrong, and _everyone_ makes mistakes. Trust me, I know a thing or two about mistakes. If a person didn’t regret _anything_, I’d be pretty frightened to know them. That means they either refuse to acknowledge what they’ve done, or they can’t tell what’s right from what’s wrong.”

Bernadetta pulled her head up to look at the Professor. So he could look at her. She touched her forehead to his, but kept her eyes, heavy-lidded as they were, open.

“You’re always thinking, you know?” Bernadetta pressed on, trying to ignore how shaky her breath was. Trying to ignore how warm _his_ was. “And you’re so kind – so _good_. It’s natural you’d worry like that about things like those. So… go ahead. Worry. It’s not like I can up and stop who you are, can I? Just… promise me you’ll do it when I’m around, alright?”

The Professor’s eyes were still moving, but his lids weren’t taut at the corners anymore. He was reading her. What was she writing on herself? Could he translate the flush in her cheeks? The part of her lips? Her half-lidded gaze? The way she rubbed her knees together?

“Maybe then you’ll worry less.” Bernadetta’s eyes were moving, too. Reading him. She wasn’t as good at it, but that didn’t stop her from trying. His breathing wasn’t shaky like hers. But it came out in steps, stopping and then starting. Like his throat had to check each one before letting it through. His lips were dry – oh, how she could wet them – and, close as they were, she could almost feel the heat from his cheeks. The Professor could _blush_? Bernadetta learned something new every day. “Maybe then your regrets will sting just a bit duller. Each time, just a _little_ less. Then, maybe one day, you’ll see what I do.”

And his eyes. That look, reassuring, but still searching. Not saddled by self-scrutiny, but still finding the best way. For everyone. For all her friends through the war, for all the soldiers under, and out of, his command, for a foreign king and a lazy border princess, for a heartbroken girl and her brother – father? For a lost student in the classroom. For a troubled colleague during tea. For an overworked friend over the sweetest of dinners. For the conflicted, the confused, the ones that a keen ear and a keen mind helped lift from their troubles, time and again.

For a foolish girl who hadn’t even wanted to talk to him.

And, for each of them, those eyes. Worried, sympathetic, clever. And, always, searching. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back again.

“Maybe, one day, you’ll see what everyone else does.” It was what Bernadetta saw. It was what everyone else saw. And whether they were pained or not, it was _those_ eyes that mattered. “The good you’ve done. For me, and for all of us. In your eyes – I mean, when I _look_ in your eyes, it’s… i-it’s not just the things you regret. The things you can be proud of shine on in them, too. If only you’d see it. If only…”

Bernadetta trailed off. Her thoughts were escaping her. Oh, she hoped she’d said the right things. It sounded nothing like what she had planned, what she tried to write down. But she could hardly think anymore. His eyes, still sharp, peeked out behind his own half-lidded gaze. His lips were so _close_. When he spoke, she could almost feel them brush against hers.

“Thank you, Bernadetta.”

That kind, little smile. The one that told her everything had, or was going to, work out. She felt her heart pounding. Pressed against him, she could feel that his was, too. The candle winked out. She thumbed the corner of the page, dying to find out what came next.

“I love you.”

“I love _you_.”

Who had said it first? It didn’t matter. They were standing at the edge of a point. She could feel the page turning.

But Bernadetta never knew how best to either get a point across or get across a point. She fell back to her old default.

“So, umm… wanna have sex?”

==========

Dorothea sputtered into her teacup, almost wasting a delicious mouthful of Albinean Berry Blend. Weighing the pain of swallowing it all in one gulp against the gracelessness of spraying her tea all over the table, Dorothea chose the former and forced it down her throat.

“Berna– ack! Be-hern,” she managed through her coughs. “Does that – I mean, did that _work_?”

“Yup.”

Dorothea looked at her, dumbstruck. “Yup. Just… yup?”

“Umm… yeah. Yup.” Bernadetta munched on her baklava, eyes cast towards the window. Dorothea recognized her self-conscious little ticks. Quite frankly, she was amazed that Bernadetta had told her so much. Dorothea reached over and—

==========

“Hey, what’s that noise?”

At Caspar’s interruption, the dining party pricked their ears, looking about the dining room.

“It sounds shrill enough to break a wine-glass. My old company would have _loved_ this for our tense scenes.”

“Not even I would be able to nap through that high-pitched whine.”

“Nothing exploded in the kitchen, right? It wasn’t me, I swear!”

“Perhaps the foundations of the house are inadequate. Perhaps someone needs to rebuild them.”

Only the Professor stayed quiet, rubbing a certain someone’s back in small circles.

Bernadetta had been screaming into his sleeve for the past five minutes.

“Bernadetta, this is uncomfortable for you?” Edelgard stated more than asked, picking up on the Professor’s silent gestures. They, too, were hard to understand. He was, for the most part, looking down and to the right the whole time – something which, for those who really knew him, looked as bashful as Bernadetta’s sleeve-hiding. Bernadetta mumbled just loud enough to answer.

“Yes!”

“Would you like us to stop?”

“No!”

“And why would—?”

“I’m trying to be brave please keep going this is so much help you’re all such wonderful friends!” Bernadetta tumbled the words from her mouth, lifting her face out of the Professor’s sleeve to momentarily free her voice before hiding back away in the safety of the fabric.

Edelgard motioned to Dorothea, who reached over and patted Bernadetta on the shoulder. “There’s our Bern. You’re doing a _great_ job. So, with your blessing—”

==========

Dorothea reached over and patted Bernadetta on the shoulder.

“That was… wow. That was an incredible story, Bern. It was so _sweet_! Compared to that, the Mittelfrank romances seem _way_ over the top. And the fact that you _told_ me – well, I’m honored you’d trust me with this.”

“W-well, you said you needed help, right? And – and I told the Professor I’d try to do more on my own. You know, put myself out there more. What better way than with someone I really like?” Bernadetta beamed up at Dorothea, who crossed her hands over her heart again. Forget the baklava. Bernadetta made _any_ tea-time far more than sweet enough.

Dorothea knew she had to steer them to a different topic, lest her sweet Bernadetta sink away from her into a pool of self-conscious nervousness. But she had _one_ last thing to prod about. “So, any last words of advice? On how this could help Ferdie and I?”

“Oh. Right. The actual helping you part. Umm… honestly, I think every relationship is pretty different. So, what happened with me and the Professor – it’s probably pretty different from what would happen with you and Ferdinand. But, remember the, um, the thing about kissing? The one I told you the Professor told me? That goes for this, too. It’s not about _how_ you make love, it’s who you make it with that makes it special.”

Dorothea basked in Bernadetta’s grin. The Professor wasn’t the only one with a smile so kind.

“And, if you learn _anything_ at all from me,” Bernadetta concluded, “it should be – I mean, it’d be nice if it was this: don’t mess up the way I did. Love takes _two_ people. Make sure – well, I’m sure you already know, but make sure you can read him. Talk to each other if you can’t.

“If you’re not on the same page, how else can you turn it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my Bylie-bear, [Allekha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allekha), for reading and editing. Love you!


End file.
